


The Hound and The Wildling

by AbbyNormal1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Graphic Description, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Original Character(s), Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyNormal1/pseuds/AbbyNormal1
Summary: (This is a look into what could have happened after Sandor Clegane left King's Landing during the battle of Blackwater.)Leaving everything he's ever known far behind him, The Hound meets a woman one dark night and is suddenly thrust into a situation where he cannot stay his hand. Now burdened with a companion just as savage and hard-headed as him, he finds himself in an odd position; one he'd never expected himself to be in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfiction before but I adore The Hound from Game of Thrones so I thought I'd give it a shot. I've written other stories but, as I said before, no fanfiction so I have no idea if it's actually going to be readable or not. Any criticism or notes will be appreciated!

~One~

Elsebeth's arrow missed the shot and dinner ran away; it's furry backside bounding over the snow and gone before you could draw breath to curse it.

"Gods damn you," Wrath snarled at her and then walloped the back of her head hard enough to make her gasp in pain. "I should kick your ass good for letting our meal get away like that."

She turned to look at him, her pale dirty face scrunched up into a look of pure spite as her dark blue eyes narrowed, "It'd be easier if you weren't breathing down my neck all the time. Your stink threw me off and I missed my shot."

Wrath raised one gloved hand as if to strike her again and she squared her shoulders as if daring him to do it. He was a big man and scary to most but she'd seen scarier. Elsebeth wasn't so little herself; she could stand eye to eye with most men and she was just as strong as any of them. Wrath may have been frightening to children or weak women but Elsebeth had outlived many like him and she would outlive many more. Let him be stupid enough to strike her again. The knife in her belt would find his throat and he'd never strike another.

The man with the scraggly beard and mean piggy-black eyes seemed to sense that she wouldn't back down and suddenly he looked worried. If the other men had been there he might've spent a few minutes posturing threateningly before storming off but they were alone so he wilted like the coward that he ultimately was; his hand drifting down to hang limply at his side.

Muttering under his breath, he said, "Come on. Let's go back to camp and see if any of the others had better luck."

She let him go on ahead as she went to retrieve her arrow and, as she pulled it out of the frozen trunk of a tree, she heard the sudden unmistakable sound of a breaking tree branch somewhere off to her left.

Turning her head so quickly that her long brown locks went flying, she called, "Court? Is that you?"

There was only silence in the snowy expanse of densely packed trees around her. It could be Court, she thought. Or it could be Lyman or Von. It could be Wrath playing a trick on her, still angry at her words before. Somehow she didn't think it was any of the men she was traveling with. She didn't know them well, had only been with them less than a week, but she hadn't taken them for the joking type. They were rough men, all of them, and most of them were stupid; especially Wrath.

"Who's out there?" She called, her strong clear voice carrying far in the late-afternoon stillness. "If you're playing some trick on me then I've got one for you as well!"

Elsebeth waited but there was no other sound. She placed her arrow back in its quiver and tromped through the snow back to the campsite. Wrath and Von were warming themselves by the fire and soon Court and Lyman came back with six rabbits. They cleaned and spitted their dinner and when her belly was full she went to sleep bundled in her furs, satisfied and warm.

She awoke only hours later to someone climbing on top of her. She came awake at once, her hands moving for her belt only to have them snatched by the wrists by another pair of hands as she looked up into the ugly face of Wrath.

"Hello there," he said. "I think it's time we had ourselves some fun, don't you?"

Struggling against the hands holding her down as Wrath's heavier weight pinned her to the ground, she said, "Get off of me or I swear by the Gods I'll-"

His hand came out of the dark to slap her, hard. As her head spun a bit she heard the other men around them laughing and looked up to see Court was the one pinning her arms down, his narrow rat-like face stretched into a grin that showed his stained and crooked teeth.

They were going to rape her. All four of them. She hadn't expected it so soon but she should've known better. She should've cut her losses and run days ago. The only thing that had stopped her was knowing that no matter how rough they were, they were still cowards. They couldn't take her one at a time and they knew it. She just hadn't expected them to all get the same idea at the same time and do it together. The motherfucking shits. She hoped they didn't plan on cutting her throat afterwards.

"You don't want to do this," she said to Wrath's smiling face, his dark eyes twinkling in the firelight above her.

"No?" He asked, already fumbling for his filthy breeches. "Your cunt got teeth?"

The men around her laughed again and she felt her heart speed up a little. This was a game to them. They were going to rape her and laugh about it. She couldn't let this happen. She'd vowed to never let this happen again.

But no matter how hard she struggled, Court pinned her down and Wrath continued to fumble his dick out of his pants, his excitement making him clumsy. Elsebeth screamed in rage and fear and they laughed again. Then their hands were ripping off her pants and no matter how she kicked and screamed, they caught her legs and pinned her knees down to the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut as Wrath finally managed to get his stiffened cock in hand and force his way into her, causing her to scream in pain and humiliation.

He began pumping his hips up and down and it burned like fire, the screams being ripped from her chest again and again as he continued. This was just how she'd remembered it. This was just how it'd happened all those years ago. She'd been younger then, though, much younger. She hadn't ever intended to let it happen again. She'd done everything she could to keep it from happening again and yet here she was.

Wrath continued his moaning and groaning as the other men continued to laugh uproariously and pin her straining arms and legs to the ground. It went on and on as they mocked her and pinched her and fondled her exposed flesh but then she felt the hands pinning her right knee down suddenly let go. She opened her eyes and looked over the curve of Wrath's big shoulder to see Von with his brown eyes open wide staring back down at her. The blade in his throat dripped red as it slid out from behind and suddenly the arms holding her other leg and her arms down let go as well.

There were cries of alarm from the men and the sound of a blade sinking into flesh again and again but Elsebeth only had eyes for Wrath. She reached down into her belt and withdrew a blade that was the length of her palm and deadly sharp. He tried to push himself off of her, his tiny cock already shrinking further inside of her, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped one of the arms he was using to brace himself. She brought the blade up and into his throat with one swift motion, ripping it out through one side with a grunt of satisfaction.

His eyes met hers as blood began to gush out of the ragged wound and patter down onto her upturned face. Through the rain of red she smiled at him, "I told you that you didn't want to do that."

Wrath choked and gargled something unintelligible through a mouthful of blood and fell to the side, bleeding out his last moments in the snow as his eyes stared up at the stars above.

Elsebeth wriggled her left leg out from under his weight and suddenly there was a man standing over her. She brandished the dripping blade at the darkened, unfamiliar figure and said, "Stay back! I'll cut your cock off, you miserable bastard!"

"That's no way to talk to the man who saved you, Wildling," came a deep, curt voice that nonetheless sounded amused. The darkened figure bent down and she saw the ugliest face she'd ever seen before in her life, the right side of it burned and puckered; his ear only a melted stub of what it had once been.

He outstretched a gloved hand and offered it to her, "Can you stand?"

Elsebeth warily eyed the man above her for a moment before taking his hand in her free one and allowing him to help her stand. Her pants were ruined rags around her ankles and she stood as naked from the waist down as she'd been coming into this world but she had no fear. He was just one man, after all. No matter how big and ugly he was, she could handle just one man. 

"I suppose I should thank you," she said, releasing his hand but continuing to stare into his eyes. "It could've gone on awhile before I managed on my own."

He smiled, disclosing a set of big horsey teeth that were slightly crooked on top, but the smile never reached his eyes. His hair was long and dark and some of it covered the burned side of his face but she could see him well enough anyway. He looked no better up close than he had from further away. Ugly wasn't the right word for it. He was hideous.

"I suppose I should say you're fucking welcome then," he returned. "But some ale or a bit of that rabbit would be even better than a thank you."

Elsebeth nodded and gestured toward the dead men, "Help yourself. They won't mind."

The ugly man's smile widened and he began to laugh in a rusty way that she thought he seldom had use for. Perhaps this one could be a better traveling companion than those others. As long he kept his cock in his pants they'd get along fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and Sandor Clegane get to know each other a little better and decide whether or not they should be traveling companions for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here introductions are made. Personalities clash a bit. Decisions are reached.
> 
> As before, any notes or criticisms are appreciated.

~Two~

Elsebeth took her spare pair of breeches out of her doeskin bag and covered her nakedness while the man with the burned face brought his horse around and ate what was left of their meal from hours before. He drank several mugs of wine from the half-empty cask while she stripped the dead men of their belongings and rolled their corpses down the snowbank and into a small crevice. She wiped her bloody hands in the snow and cleaned herself up a little with some rags, tossing them bloody and soaking into the crevice with her former traveling companions.

She came back to the fire and got under her furs, looking at the man sitting on a log across from her. Unlike her, he was sitting too far back from the flames for them to do much good. His lips nearly looked blue with cold.

His eyes met hers after a moment and a frown creased his brow, "What are you staring at?"

"You," Elsebeth returned, unfazed by his sudden shift toward anger. "There's not much else out here to look at."

"Well, don't," he said, looking away from her finally and taking another swig of wine.

"Why don't you get closer to the fire?" She asked. "You're going to freeze your balls off over there."

"Fuck off," he said. "I'll worry about my balls, you worry about your own."

"I would but I haven't got any," she said matter-of-factly. "But you knew that, didn't you? You saw."

He only took another swig of wine and said nothing.

"You get your belly full at least? I saw you sucking the marrow out of those bones. You must've been hungry."

Still, he said nothing.

"Where do you come from?" Elsebeth tried.

"Do you ever shut the fuck up?" He asked, his eyes meeting hers again.

Elsebeth smirked at this, "You southerners sure are touchy, aren't you?"

He sneered at her, "Are all of you Wildlings this stupid? No wonder you live in a fucking wasteland."

"Don't live there no more," she said. "Mance wanted me for war with the Crows. I said no thank you. I've had enough of that in my life already. Lost two brothers and both my parents to those damned Crows. I ran off with a few like-minded souls and here I am. Wherever I lay my head is home for the night."

"How'd you get over the wall?" He asked, raising the one eyebrow that he still possessed. "Did you grow a set of wings and fly over?"

"Climbed it," she answered, drawing the furs closer around her neck.

"You climbed the wall?" He asked, clearly still incredulous at her claim. "How the fuck did you do that?"

"With ropes and spikes, you idiot," she said defensively. "How the fuck else would someone climb it?"

The man only grunted and drank more wine. For a moment they were both silent, looking into the flames as the wind howled around them and his big black horse whinnied softly behind him. Finally, she couldn't stand it another moment and spoke again.

"What's your name?" She asked him. "Can you tell me that much or are you going to insult me again? You can if you'd like. Not anything I'm not used to."

He met her eyes again and begrudgingly allowed, "Sandor Clegane. They call me The Hound." And then he watched her closely for her reaction.

Elsebeth only looked back at him with steady blue eyes on his dark brown ones. "Is that supposed to mean something? You think we free folk tremble in fear at the thought of dogs?"

Sandor's upper lip curled up but she didn't know whether it was in anger or amusement.

"My name's Elsebeth," she told him. "No last name but they called me Elsebeth the Quick. Said I was as quick with my hands as I am with my wit."

"Should've called you Elsebeth the Mouthy," he grumbled behind his mug.

She tinkled laughter at this and he looked up at her as if surprised to hear it. "You're pretty sharp yourself," she observed. "What happened to your face? Sharp man like you shouldn't have a face that looks like that."

The dark look that clouded his countenance told her she'd stepped her toe in murky waters there. His face closed off just as soon as it'd opened to her and she regretted asking him so flippantly. She should've sensed it would be a sore spot for him. How couldn't it be when it made him one of the ugliest fucks she'd seen south of the wall so far?

"Just shut your endless prattling and go to sleep," he told her, his voice rougher than ever. "I'm tired of listening to your voice."

"As you wish, ser," she said with a mock curtsey. His eyes widened again and his lips drew back from his teeth but she was already turning away and rolling up in her furs, smirking to herself that she'd gotten the last word.

Despite there being a stranger in camp with her, sleep came upon her rather quickly. He'd be gone in the morning, she told herself as she drifted away. He'd be gone and she'd never have to look at his face again. Fuck him and his surly manner. She could find a thousand men just like him to insult her.

***

Elsebeth woke the next morning to feel hot breath on her face and pushed up with one hand, shoving a large muzzle away from her with a grunt of effort.

"Stranger, leave that woman alone," came Sandor's voice.

She sat up and saw the burned man's big black horse looking down at her curiously. Looking past his horse, she saw the man himself. He was shaking out furs and rolling them up to set aside.

Elsebeth stood and went to one side so that she could skim down her breeches and piss a steaming hole into the snow. It burned like fire and she bit one knuckle, cursing the dead man who had ripped her open the night before and left her this little reminder the morning after. After drying herself and pulling her pants up again, she went to the wine cask and found it empty.

"Thank you for saving me a knock," she muttered, tipping it over into the snow with one hand. "What a generous man you are."

His voice from over her shoulder startled her and made her jump, "I was thirsty. If you wanted some you should've asked me to save some."

She met his eyes but he looked away and went to his horse. He took a wineskin out of his saddlebag and tossed it at her. "Here. Water."

She caught it deftly in one hand and then tossed it back at him where it thumped against his armored chest before falling into the snow.

He seemed surprised as she scolded, "I don't want water. I have water. I wanted wine."

He bent to retrieve his skin and said, "You should've told me."

Elsebeth began gathering her things and said, "You want breakfast? I can find us some breakfast."

"Have you seen the fucking size of me?" he asked, frowning now. "Of course I want breakfast."

She put on her cloak and then the strap of her quiver over her right shoulder. Picking up her bow in one hand, she said, "Stay here. This won't take long now that that moron Wrath won't be breathing down my neck."

"Which one was Wrath?" He asked, peering down the snowbank at the already stiff bodies.

She stared at him until his eyes met hers again. "You know which one was Wrath," she said. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

***

She returned to camp with two rabbits and a gopher. Skinning and spitting them was the work of only moments and she could sense the big man's eyes on her the entire time. The dolt had let the fire burn down to embers and she got it going again with a little effort. She sat next to him on the log and this time when he offered her water from his wineskin she took a long drink and handed it back with a nod of thanks.

They watched their breakfast cooking and sat in the early morning sunshine next to one another in silence for a long moment. When she got up to turn the food he said, "I wish it were chicken. I could go for a couple of good-sized chickens right now."

"Well it's not chicken, it's rabbit and gopher. The same gods-damned nasty rabbits and gophers I've been eating for a week."

He grunted and said, "I wish there were more wine."

She looked back at him and said, "Aye. Me too."

After their breakfast was nothing more than bones, she saw the man begin to collect his things and asked, "Where will you be going?"

He tied his pack to the back of his horse and said, "Wherever I damn well please. Didn't mean to go so far North. Maybe I'll head south again and try to cross the Narrow Sea."

"What's the Narrow Sea?" Elsebeth asked.

Sandor turned to look at her again and said, "Don't worry about it. You'll find it if you head south...if you live long enough."

Her mouth set in an angry line, she said, "Maybe. Why don't I travel with you a little while? That might help me with the living long enough part anyway."

He frowned, "You don't want to come with me, woman. You think you don't like me now? Wait a little while."

"My name is not 'woman'," she snapped. "My name is Elsebeth and you have no idea what I will or will not like. You don't know the kind of men I'm used to. You're a puppy compared to them."

He smiled, showing her his teeth again, but it was an angry smile, "A puppy? I've been called 'dog' more times than I can count but I've never been called a puppy. If those men over there," he lifted his scruffy chin toward where the dead men lay but his eyes never left hers, "Are any indication of the type you're used to then I'd say you've known weak men. Cowards. You don't know anyone like me."

"I've known worse than either you or them," she said. "My brother was the first hard man I knew and I put a blade in his eye just as quick as I'd put one in yours."

The surprise on his face was obvious, "Brother? I thought you said you lost him to the Crows?"

"I said I lost two of them to the Crows," she corrected him. "I didn't mention the third. He beat me every day from the time I could walk just because I was a girl he couldn't fuck. I put him down as soon as I got big enough to hold a blade properly."

Sandor Clegane looked at her for a long time with his dark eyes, searching her face as if he could somehow see what she was thinking. Finally he looked away and said, "Fine. Come with me if you want. Don't expect me to feed you or clothe you, though. You can stay with me as long as you can provide for yourself."

With her hands on her hips she smiled up at him and said, "By my count I've fed you twice already. We'll see how you feel about every man for himself the next time your belly starts rumbling."

Once again he looked surprised at this but she turned away to gather her things and paid no attention to the man with the burned face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elsebeth head out on the road. She begins to realize that he is a much harder man than she'd initially believed (haha).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any advice or criticisms are welcome! Let me know what you think.

~Three~

Elsebeth and Sandor left the camp and she rode on his horse with him, his big arms around hers as he held the reins.

"Don't know how the five of you got so far from the wall without horses," he grumbled in her ear sourly.

"We're a lot tougher than you southerners," she said, shifting forward a little to keep a gap between them. "We don't always have horseflesh to get us where we're going and sometimes a horse would break a leg where a man or woman wouldn't."

He grumbled and stayed quiet.

They rode for hours and some time after midday they both began to get hungry again. She left Sandor to carefully build a fire as she took her bow and went hunting. After prowling through the snow for about an hour she got lucky and spotted fresh deer spoor. Following it's tracks and staying downwind, she gently pushed her way through a strand of pines and saw a buck standing in a clearing, his huge rack of antlers clearly framed against the white of the snow as he looked in the opposite direction.

Elsebeth quietly notched an arrow and let fly, bringing the buck down with a clean shot through it's thick neck. She went to the fallen animal and it was already dead by the time she'd reached it. She removed her arrow and gutted it with one quick move, throwing it's steaming entrails into the snow. Then she went into her pack and removed a length of rope. She tied it to one of the buck's back legs and threw the other end of the rope over a thick branch. She was just doing the difficult job of hoisting it up into the air when Sandor came stumbling through the snow toward her with his sword in one hand.

"There you are," he said, coming closer and sheathing his big sword again. "You've been gone so long..."

"No need to worry," she told him, grunting with the effort it took to draw the deer carcass higher. "I've got everything under, ugh, control."

He shook his head and waded through the snow to stand next to her. He took the rope from her hands and began to hoist the deer higher, his hands sure and strong where hers had been weak and trembling. Soon the deer was high enough and she tied the other end of the rope around the tree.

She began the tedious work of skinning and then butchering the animal. Sandor watched her hands grow sleeves of blood and admired her handiwork, "You've done this before."

"Many times," Elsebeth returned, not looking away from the hunk of venison she was carving out. "I like to eat. Going to bed with an empty stomach doesn't put me in a good mood."

He grunted again and she got the feeling that he wasn't displeased by her answer.

It took a while but eventually they had two packs filled with meat and packed with snow. They took the largest chunk back to the fire and once they had it going good again they roasted it over big flames. By the time it was done it was already near dark so they decided to stay there for the night. They ate until their bellies were practically sluggish with charred meat (along with various root vegetables she'd managed to dig out of the snow that were bitter tasting yet nonetheless nutritious) and lay down on their separate furs across the fire from one another. Neither one of them spoke much and soon Elsebeth drifted off to sleep again, listening to Sandor "The Hound" Clegane sharpening his sword with a flat piece of granite. She wondered little about the man before sleep claimed her, finding it enough that he would keep an eye out for a while as she slept.

She didn't have to worry about him climbing on top of her in the middle of the night. She'd caught him looking at the swell of her backside and the forward push of her breasts but his glances were mostly uninterested and that suited her just fine. She needed another prick in her bed like she needed another hole in her head.

***

Elsebeth came awake to the sound of howling and her first confused thought was that it was Sandor. Maybe that was why they called him The Hound? Maybe he was a madman who howled at the moon at night.

Then she heard another howl rise in the dark to join the first, then another; deep, throaty lamentations directed at the blank face of the moon high above in the night sky. She rose to see Sandor sitting up in his own furs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the palm of one hand. More howls sprang up in the dark woods all around them and she quickly gathered her furs and went to him, retrieving her bow along the way.

He frowned as she plopped down in the snow next to him and got as close as she dared. "What's wrong?" He asked. "I thought you Wildlings didn't tremble at the thought of dogs."

Elsebeth huddled closer to him, her blue eyes wide in the firelight. "Those aren't dogs, Hound," she whispered. "Those are direwolves. All of them meaner and nastier than you'll ever be."

Sandor shrugged his furs up over his shoulders and rubbed his hands together to warm them. "They're not so terrible," he said. "Though the ones I've seen were only half-grown."

She eyed him suspiciously, "Liar. Direwolves don't travel south. They stay where it's cold."

His head snapped to the left and his eyes met her own. His voice was full of anger as he said, "I never lie, woman. That you can be certain of."

She looked away from his fiery gaze, suddenly unsure. Another howl rose in the dark, closer this time, and she jumped before clutching at Sandor's arm. She felt him jerk in surprise and begin to draw away from her but another howl started and she leaned against him, gripping him tightly to her at the same time.

"Oh, I hate those nasty fucking things," she whispered apologetically. "Their mouths get big enough to swallow a man's head whole."

The man some southern people somewhere called 'The Hound' only sat there for a moment; allowing her to cling to him desperately like a frightened child. He seemed uncomfortable and she wanted to release him but soon he relaxed slightly and said, "Don't worry yourself. They're just attracted to what's left of your kill. They won't bother us with as much meat as we left behind."

"I didn't think they'd be this far south of the wall," She whispered back. "Burying a dead thing in the snow isn't enough. You have to bury it deep in the ground or leave it far behind if you don't want them near your camp. If I'd have known I'd have dragged it a mile or more to butcher it."

Sandor said nothing to this so they sat there in the dark listening to the direwolves howl. When he offered her water she drank and when he got up to piss she almost followed him. She sat there anxiously until he returned shivering and she added her furs to his own, climbing under them with him to share her body heat.

"No," he said, sounding oddly frightened by her touch, pushing her away with an uncertain hand. "Don't do that."

She frowned and said, "I'm freezing. If you have to sit so far away from the fire at least let us share our natural heat. I don't want to lose a toe or the tip of my nose because you're stubborn."

His dark eyes regarded her for a long time and finally he relented, lifting an arm and allowing her to huddle right up next to him. With both of their furs combined around them, they were actually somewhat warm even this far away from the flames. Elsebeth sat next to him and watched them waver before her, still jumping at the occasional snapping and crackling of the fire even though the howls of the direwolves had died off some time ago.

Soon enough she was drifting off again and dreamed strange dreams of running through the snow with her shoes off. Dreams that she couldn't ever remember having but maybe once or twice before in her entire life.

***

She awoke the next morning and immediately felt the huge arm around her middle. She shifted slightly and something jabbed her high on her hip. She turned and realized that Sandor Clegane was holding her against him, still sleeping. Then she realized that it was his massive erection jutting forward under his breeches and poking her.

Elsebeth began to laugh helplessly and tried to smother it with her hand. Her laughter was too strong, however, and she woke him; his eyes meeting hers as soon as they fluttered opened.

"What?" He croaked at her, his breath foul as it washed across her face. "What's so funny?"

Elsebeth felt his arm release her and then he was looking down at himself, his eyebrow lifting in surprise. Her laughter came harder as he pushed away from her and lashed out clumsily at the furs covering them, throwing them off. He scrambled to his feet, trying to smother his erection with one big hand much like she'd tried with her laughter and failing just as horribly.

"Fuck," he growled, turning away from her.

"Oh dear," she said, still giggling a bit. "A little stiff this morning, are we?"

Sandor growled in embarrassment and stalked away from her, muttering under his breath, his big feet clomping through the snow until he was far enough away that she couldn't hear him any more.

She watched him go, her laughter finally gone, feeling a bit bad that she hadn't been able to stop herself. She didn't know what he was being so sensitive about, though. He had to know it happened. It was just as natural as birds singing when the sun rose. She'd had three brothers as well as a husband at one time. She'd known about it since she was seven or so.

Elsebeth took care of her morning necessities and when he came back he wouldn't look at her. He just gathered up his stuff and began putting it away again. She didn't speak to him nor he to her and soon they were on Stranger's back once more.

She couldn't help but notice that he tried as hard as he could to keep space between them as they rode. She wondered if he was afraid that it would happen again. She wondered if she was afraid of it as well. She wasn't so sure anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elsebeth finally leave the north behind. Elsebeth finds herself in a world totally unfamiliar to her.

~Four~

They rode all that day and the next before seeing something other than snow and trees and the occasional frightened animal. Once the snow was behind them, however, Elsebeth found herself marveling at the colors that filled the world. All her life had been grey and white with the sentinel green of endless trees and blue skies above. Here beyond the snow the world was filled with more colors than a rainbow and it dazzled her eyes. Every blade of grass was the most brilliant, verdant green. Every flower and bird wore colors she had no name for; so many varying shades of blue and red and yellow and purple that she'd never lay eyes on before.

Sandor noticed her sudden silence and chided, "What's happened to you, woman? Shadowcat got your tongue?"

"It's so pretty here," she told him, her voice small with unsuppressed awe. "I've never seen so many different colors."

His eyes drifted down to a pile of horseshit lying on the road as they went past. "Aye," he said in a sourly amused voice. "Absolutely lovely."

They came to a village comprised of only a few houses built from wood and here was another thing to marvel at. She'd never seen so many man-made structures grouped together like this. There was smoke curling up from every chimney and children played in the streets, some of them following behind Stranger as they continued down to a large structure with a sign hanging up out front.

She squinted at the sign and haltingly read, "Gosswood Inn."

She felt Sandor's flinch of surprise behind her. "You can read?"

She turned to look at him, her face clouded with distaste, "My father was from beyond the wall. He taught me and all my brothers how to read. Mance taught me even more."

Sandor grunted and brought his horse around to the stable on one side. They both got off of Stranger's back and Sandor handed the reins to a skinny stableboy before flipping a copper at him. "See that he's fed and watered," he snapped at the nodding boy. "I'll know if he hasn't been."

"Y-yes, m'lord," the boy sputtered, scrambling to obey.

Sandor took her arm and marched her toward the door, leading her away from where she stood smiling and waving at the children around them. He pushed past them and pulled her forward, whispering, "Try to act like you belong and you will. Stand around gaping at everything like some savage and you'll draw unwanted attention to us."

Elsebeth tried to wrench her arm out of his grip but he was too strong. His fingers were going to leave bruises in the shape of fingermarks for days. "Let me go!" she hissed at him. "You're hurting me."

His half-ruined face glared down at her fiercely but he did release her arm. "Just keep your foolish mouth shut long enough for us to get a few mugs of wine, hmm? Can you manage that or do I need to fucking gag you?"

Elsebeth felt heat flush her face and she shoved against his armored chest, making him stumble just the tiniest bit. "Fuck you, dog," she spat. "You're mean and you're ugly. I'll just be glad if I won't have to look at you for a little while."

Sandor growled and grabbed her arm again despite her protests. He pushed open the door and they stepped inside, every eye in the room turning to look at them. They were not friendly eyes and she felt her heart begin to speed up in her chest. These were not free folk. These were the kind that hated the free folk. The kind that would kill her if they found out who she really was.

Suddenly she was glad that Sandor Clegane was with her. He was a foot taller than any man she'd ever known and strong enough to crush a man's head with his bare hands. Even if they did run into trouble he'd be likely to help toward getting them out of it.

He pulled her forward and sat her down on a rough wooden bench near a table that was currently unoccupied. He bent down low to speak quietly in her ear so that no one else could overhear him. "Stay here and don't move a fucking muscle," he warned, his hot breath tickling her inner ear and drawing goosebumps along her flesh. "I'll be right back."

Then he left her to approach the innkeeper and she looked down at her hands to avoid the eyes she could still feel scrutinizing her. There was bit of dried blood under one fingernail and she began digging it out, her heart hammering in her chest. After a few minutes Sandor returned and sat next to her, draping one arm over her shoulders and glaring back at the people in the inn. Soon they began to drop their eyes and Elsebeth felt a little more at peace.

Once the onlookers had returned to their own affairs, she looked up at him and gave him a grateful half-smile, feeling like an utter shit for calling him mean and ugly before. Maybe he was mean and ugly but that wasn't all he was. She couldn't forget that this was the same man who had saved her from being gang-raped only a few nights ago. Maybe she could've gotten out of it eventually somehow but without his help it would've been much more difficult. In retrospect he didn't seem like such a bad man after all.

The innkeeper sent over a girl to serve them wine and Sandor let his arm drop away from her as he began drinking in earnest, guzzling the rich liquid until rills of it were running down either side of his grizzled throat.

Elsebeth sipped at her own wine, almost gagging at the sweetness of it. It was weaker than the sort she was used to but much tastier and soon the sweetness was bearable and she began to match him cup for cup. When two bowls of hot stew came he began shoveling food into his mouth and she did likewise. It was delicious and soon she was scraping her bowl clean, tipping her head back with the bowl hung suspended over her open mouth as she caught the last few tasty drops.

Sandor continued to drink and so did she. She had just begun to relax when a fat man with a wart on his nose came and sat down across from them.

"Hope the day finds you both well," the man said, setting his cup down on the table with a thump.

Sandor only looked at him, his dark eyes cold and speculating. Elsebeth heeded Sandor's advice and kept her mouth shut as well.

The fat man seemed not to notice; obviously he was already drunk. "Never seen you two around here before," he continued. "Where are you headed?"

"South," Sandor growled, taking another long drink of wine.

The fat man sat there blinking at him for a moment and then looked back at Elsebeth. "Did you come from the North? From Winterfell?"

Sandor grunted and said nothing. Elsebeth didn't make a sound.

The fat man smiled and asked, "Have you heard, then?"

Irritated, The Hound returned, "Heard what?"

"The wolf boy is dead," the fat man intoned, raising his drink and taking a long swig. He looked at them again and said, "So is his mother and his brothers. All dead. Walder Frey butchered them like cattle and men from the Iron Islands hold Winterfell now."

Elsebeth glanced at Sandor and saw that his face was set in a grim expression, his dark eyes boring into the drunk man sitting across from them. Something about the set of his jaw made her fear for the fat man. She hadn't seen him look quite that way since the night he'd killed Von, Lyman and Court.

Leaning forward, Sandor's lips skinned back from his big teeth and he said, "Fuck off. I don't care what happened at Winterfell. Nor in the Riverlands or at King's fucking Landing. All I care about is drinking my wine in silence. Go back to your own table while you still have that wagging tongue inside your head."

The fat man stood up as if someone had jammed a hot poker inside somewhere private and glanced fearfully over his shoulder at The Hound as he hurried back to his table.

Sandor muttered, "Dumb cunt" and resumed drinking.

***

After paying for a room at the inn, he took her hand and led her upstairs. On the way up they passed a woman with her breasts hanging out of the front of her wispy dress who leaned seductively over the rail and asked, "Need another warm body for your bed tonight? If your woman there doesn't mind sharing, that is?"

Sandor snarled at her and pushed past, almost knocking the buxom woman down the flight of stairs in his haste. The woman cried out an indignant, "Hey!" But they were already gone and heading into the room Sandor had paid for.

Once inside he drew the bar across the door and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, leaning his head against the rough wood and standing with his back to her.

"Why did you push that woman?" Elsebeth asked. "Did she do something to offend you?"

Sandor raised his head and looked around at her. "She was a whore," he told her. "I don't like whores."

Elsebeth was confused. She didn't know this word, 'whore'.

"Don't you like women?" She asked. "She seemed to like you despite your cheery attitude."

Sandor turned to face her fully for the first time since they'd come into the room. "I'm no Knight of Flowers," he told her cryptically. "I don't prefer the company of men but I don't enjoy sticking my dick where a dozen other dicks have been recently." His dark eyes peered questioningly into hers. "Don't they have whores on your side of the wall?"

Elsebeth shrugged, "I'm not entirely sure what a whore is other than a woman who gets a lot of dicks stuck in her."

Sandor laughed at this but it was muted as he shrugged off their packs and threw them onto the pallet of straw that would serve as a bed that night. "Imagine being your age and not knowing what a whore is," he said with a shake of his head. Then he let out a huge breath and tried to explain, "They're like liars but worse. They sell themselves for gold and their cunts are as used up as an old woman's when they're still young. They're not the sort of company you'd likely keep from what I know of you."

He walked away and she watched him go, still confused. She shook her head when she realized it didn't really matter either way and went to him as he began to untie and remove his armor. Watching him struggle for a moment, she came closer and asked, "Can I help?"

His dark eyes met hers again for the briefest moment and then he pointed at the tie above his left shoulder. "This one here," he said.

She pulled the strip of leather and helped him remove his shoulder plate. Then she helped him remove his breast plate and he stood before her in a sweat stained undershirt, his body seeming much narrower without the big armor covering it. He was still rather large, however, much larger than her anyway. He was broad of shoulder and long-limbed, his forearms and exposed throat sprouting curls of wiry black hair. She looked at the scarred flesh of his chest as he pulled his shirt off and wiped himself with it. He looked as though he had been cut and bled many times. She could sympathize, there were parts of her own body that looked almost as bad.

He seemed to feel her eyes on him and his gaze met her own. She turned away from his dark eyes as he continued to dry scrub some of the road grime from his flesh and soon he was dressing into cleaner clothes, the sour sweat smell of him replaced by something that could almost be called preferable.

He lay on the straw and sighed, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stretched out before her. She removed her cloak and lay it on the floor at his feet, intending to lie down and draw it around her, using her cloak as a cover.

Sandor noticed what she was doing and said, "No. Come here. We can...we can share tonight."

Elsebeth met his eyes with her own and looked at him for a long time before finally nodding slowly. Picking up her cloak, she tossed it aside next to the bags he'd kicked over when lying down. She lay down next to him and she could feel his body stiffen as she drew closer. She could sense that he didn't know what to do next so she spared him the torment and reached down to draw a musty smelling blanket over both of them.

"Good night," she told him, curling up on her side next to him. "And thank you."

He grumbled some reply but she was too saddle-sore and weary to care. Soon she was drifting away into sleep and she could feel his body slowly relaxing next to hers. She didn't have to worry about him, she thought. He might get a little stiff in his pants during the night but he wouldn't try anything. He was too scared of women to try anything, she told herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elsebeth's calm night is interrupted in the worst way. Elsebeth returns the favor Sandor had bestowed upon her days before.

~Five~

Elsebeth came awake when she felt a rough hand shaking her shoulder. When she looked up it was into the face of The Hound. Immediately she was frightened by the look in his eyes, something she hadn't seen before. He looked terrified. Then she smelled smoke and heard the horrible screams throughout the inn below them and thought she knew why.

"We have to go!" He roared, gripping her by one wrist and pulling her rudely to her feet. "Now! Now!"

Elsebeth grabbed their packs and his armor as well as her bow and quiver. Sandor was already moving for the door but as he drew close he began to cough thickly behind one curled fist. The smoke was already too thick there. He could hardly see let alone breathe.

"The window!" she shouted, already heading that way. Even through the worn soles of her shoes she could feel heat beneath the rough floorboards baking her feet. The smoke was growing thicker around them and she crouched a little, trying to duck under it, but she still couldn't draw more than half a breath before coughing.

He grabbed a chair in one big hand and tossed it through the window. It shattered and the chair toppled out into the night. Then he was gripping her arm again and ripping everything out of her hands and chunking it all out of the window as well.

Elsebeth turned to grab her cloak from the floor and saw that one corner of it was burning briskly. Choking and involuntary tears running down her pale cheeks, she lunged for it anyway but Sandor grabbed her shoulder and stopped her.

She turned to look into his wild, staring eyes and he roared thoughtlessly at her before grabbing her up in his big arms and forcing her through the window. She was coughing too hard to protest and she landed on a thatched roof that was aflame at one end.

She turned back to see Sandor trying to climb through the window as well but it was too small. He stuck his head out and gasped deeply for a breath of fresh air before trying to somehow force his way out again. Elsebeth was shaking, panicking, as the flames began to shoot up in the room behind him, consuming the wall with the door leading out. She watched him struggle for another moment and then his eyes met hers.

"Help," he said, his voice barely audible above the snap and crackle of fire behind him. The sheer terror on his face stirred something deep within her; some hard streak that had always been there when she needed it most. His voice was trembling, his eyes huge circles of desperation as he pleaded with her, "Help me. Please. I don't want to die like this."

Elsebeth reacted on instinct and gripped the window frame, the wood blistering her hands immediately, but she barely felt the heat. All she could see were his eyes. Nothing mattered at that moment other than getting him free. She wouldn't watch him burn to death. Not today.

She screamed, a primal, angry sound, and used a strength she had not thought she possessed to rip that side of the frame off entirely. In an instant the window was widened enough for his big shoulders to fit through and she tossed the smoking board aside to grip one of Sandor's hairy forearms.

With his help, she was able to pull him through and they both fell backward together onto the roof. It creaked warningly beneath their combined weight and she rolled off to one side. She kneeled long enough to grasp his reaching hand with her blistered one and then they were both jumping off of the roof and onto the leaf-strewn ground below. She released him in the air and hit the dirt rolling, springing back up like a cat who always landed on her feet. Off to her right she heard Sandor cry out and curse in pain as he landed on his ass awkwardly.

She went to him and helped him stand, draping his big arm around her shoulder and leading him away from the burning inn. She dumped his leaden weight in the grass and he wheezed from inhaling so much smoke as he said, "Stranger! Get him!"

Elsebeth ran for the stables without a word and came upon it just as the roof was beginning to catch. Only three horses were tied up inside but she used her blade to quickly free them all and give them slaps on the rear end to get them moving toward the open night air. Just as soon as Stranger had gotten free, a part of the burning roof came down behind her and she wasted no more time leaving as well. She swiftly ran back to where she'd left the big man sitting only moments before.

He had dared the heat from the fire long enough to retrieve the belongings he had thrown from the window and she bent to help him collect them. As they stood again with their arms full, she saw Sandor staring up at the burning inn with horrified eyes. The flames were hot, so hot that it tightened their skin even from this far away, and she thought that he looked like a man who had just awoken from the most terrible nightmare of his life.

"Fucking fire," he said in his smoke-roughened voice. "It had to be a fucking fire, didn't it?"

"Come on," Elsebeth said, shrugging the strap of her pack over one shoulder. "Let's go find your horse."

His eyes drifted away from the flames and he seemed to be really seeing her for the first time. "Aye," he said. "The farther away we get from this shit the better."

***

An hour later they found a grove of trees with a little creek running through it far from sight of the road and decided that it would be a decent enough place to sleep. Sandor helped her climb down from Stranger's back and when he gripped her hands in his she winced, drawing a sharp breath between her teeth even at his gentle pressure. He looked into her eyes for a moment and turned them over to look at the other side of her hands. When he saw the shiny blisters that had risen along in a wide strip across both her fingers and palms, he said, "Your hands..."

She pulled away from him slowly and said, "I've had worse. It hurts bad now but I'll heal."

Elsebeth could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on her as she kneeled down by the slow trickle of cold water and carefully placed her hands beneath it's frigid depth. The water numbed her hands almost instantly except for her burns and she gritted her teeth against the pain until they were also numb.

She came back to Sandor and found him digging in his saddlebag. After a moment he turned to her and produced a small glass bottle with a cork in the top. "Come closer," he told her, pulling out the cork with his big teeth. "Let me help you."

Elsebeth stepped forward and nodded at the bottle in his hand, "What is it?"

"It will help. Trust me."

She met his eyes with her own and then slowly nodded. She offered her wounded hands up to him and he poured out a generous amount of some milky substance onto both of her palms. Gently spreading the salve around with the tip of one finger, he covered every inch and then looked into her eyes once again.

"Better?"

Elsebeth stepped back and said, "Can't tell. They're still numb from the water."

She made as if to turn away from him and he stopped her by touching one shoulder, "Wait."

She did as he said and he went to his saddlebag again. He replaced the cork in the little bottle and tossed it inside before rummaging around a moment. She heard him cursing under his breath and then the grunt of approval as he found whatever it was he was searching for.

He turned to face her again and she saw a piece of startlingly clean linen in his big hands. He began tearing the fabric into long strips and she waited patiently, watching him work. He beckoned her to come closer again and she did so. She held her hands out as he carefully wrapped first one and then the other.

When he was done he stood before her empty handed and said, "It's going to hurt for a long time but it's not as bad as it looks now. You need to rest your hands for as long as it takes them to heal. Maybe a week or more."

Elsebeth looked down at her bandaged hands and already she could feel the chill from the creek water ebbing a little, pain returning to take it's place. 

"Thank you, Sandor," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze again.

He quickly looked away from her, startled, and she realized that she hadn't called him by his name before now. She wondered why that would affect him as much as it clearly did. Wasn't it better than calling him a dog?

"No need to thank me," he told her, his voice almost back to normal now that they were in fresh air again. "You burned yourself getting me out back there. I'm the one who should be thanking you."

She watched him return to his horse and begin untying the furs bundled up in a roll behind his saddle. She remembered the way that he'd looked as he'd pleaded with her for help. She looked down at her hands and decided that being semi-useless and in pain for the next few days was a small price to pay to avoid seeing him die such a horrible death. 

She wasn't surprised to find that she rather liked this man southerners called The Hound.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions between Sandor and Elsebeth elevate.

~Six~

They made a crude pallet on the grass beneath an old tree and, since they were both too tired to build a fire, they lay down together without even having to speak about it. It was warmer this far from what used to serve as home but the wind still bit into you and left your fingers and toes numb at night. She was grateful for his warmth and hoped only to use the time left before sunrise to get some much needed sleep.

Elsebeth was just drifting off under the furs when she felt the first timid touch of his huge hand on her hip. She was awake and fully alert again in an instant but she feigned sleep, hoping that he wouldn't notice so that she could see what he'd do next; how far he would test the waters.

His hand settled heavily for an endless moment on the curve of her left hip and she felt him slowly scoot closer to her. He hadn't bothered to put on his armor again and she could feel the warmth of his skin better than ever. Once he was settled again, his hand began to slide up, trailing over the dip at her waist, and pulling the coarse fabric of her shirt up slightly until the entire length of his hand lay on her bare flesh.

She tried to keep her breathing even and her body relaxed but her heart began to pound thunderously in her chest. Her aching hands throbbed in time along with each beat and she tried to ignore the pain, focusing only on Sandor behind her. He must still think that she was asleep or he would've taken his hand away by now. He would've turned away, wouldn't he?

Elsebeth could feel his hot breath stirring the stray hairs across her neck and she had to suppress a shiver against it. His thick, calloused fingers started to explore further up, tickling slightly over her ribs, and toward the swell of her left breast. Her heart had climbed up into her throat now and she swallowed thickly. She should stop him, she thought. She should pretend to snore or roll over in her sleep and give him a good scare...but for some reason she lay there as if paralyzed. She could hardly breathe as his fingers slowly slid up and touched the underside of her breast.

The Hound shifted a little and then his erection suddenly pressed into her hip only inches away from where his hand had been before. If he noticed her sudden deep intake of breath at this he gave no sign of it and, even with their clothes separating them, she could feel the full length of it throbbing against her. He shifted once again and now his erect cock pressed between the cleft behind her; pulsing obscenely as it prodded close to a place that would be very painful if he decided to take her by force.

Even the thought of being brutally sodomized by him didn't compel her to try and stop him. She could be screaming and in pain at any moment and yet she was still frozen in place; completely unable to move. It wasn't the fact of her wounded hands leaving her almost defenseless that made her freeze up...at least, not entirely. Mostly it was the feel of him, the smell of him, the thought that he could reach down and in two seconds take what he wanted. Aye, he was bigger than her and much stronger but that wasn't all that kept her from reacting the way she normally would. If it had been any other man doing this she would've stopped him long ago, burned hands or not. But it wasn't just any man touching her. It was Sandor and no matter how she might try to deny it to herself, there was a part of her that didn't want him to release her. A part of her that wanted him in a way she hadn't wanted any man in a long time.

She bit her lip as she heard a deep grumbling issue forth from his chest; something that made him sound like a bear rather than a man lying next to her. It took her a moment before she realized that these were pleased noises he was making and not angry ones as she had initially believed. Her face flushed with heat and she felt a sudden familiar aching begin between her own legs. The strength of her longing scared her far more than Sandor ever had. She couldn't even remember the last time she had felt this way but it had probably been a couple of years at least. Not since her husband had died.

She only lay there as Sandor continued to press against her more urgently but his hand seemed hesitant to actually grip the mound of flesh just above his fingertips. He gave another one of his odd growls and suddenly he was pulling away from her. She felt him roll away and heard him stand up, muttering something to himself as he walked away from her.

Elsebeth let her pent-up breath out all in a rush and shifted a little as the sound of his heavy footsteps slowly faded. She trembled when she remembered his hand touching her skin and outright shuddered when she thought of him pressing his stiff cock between the crack in her backside. 

This time he hadn't been asleep. No, he'd been wide awake and well aware of what he was doing. She'd thought for a moment there that he'd meant to rape her but something about it hadn't exactly felt that way. His hands had been caressing rather than cruel and the way he'd been afraid to actually grasp her tit. He could've done it if he'd wanted to. He could've done anything he'd wanted to. But he didn't 

It seemed like a long time to Elsebeth before she fell asleep again but it was less than half an hour before The Hound came back to stand over her. He watched her sleeping form for a moment before climbing back under the furs with her. This time he turned away from her until only their backs were facing each other and soon he was asleep too.

***

Elsebeth awakened late the next morning and found Sandor filling his wineskin in the creek. She took care of her morning necessities and walked over to where he kneeled. He heard her approach and she noticed the way his broad back stiffened and that he did not turn.

Forcing herself to sound natural, she said, "Good morning, Sandor."

After a moment he grunted in acknowledgement and she bent down upstream from him to fill her own wineskin; holding it awkwardly with the tips of her throbbing fingers. She got it about halfway filled and then it slipped through her hands and fell into the water. It drifted downstream a moment before Sandor reached forward and caught it with one big hand. He filled it for her and then stood, not looking at her as he came over to her.

Elsebeth watched his face carefully as he handed it back to her and nodded at her word of thanks. He wouldn't bring his eyes up higher than her knees and she wondered momentarily if he was frightened of her.

He lifted his scruffy chin at her hands and asked, "They hurt?"

"Aye, they do," she said. "It's hard to move my fingers now."

Without a word he reached down and took her free hand in both of his. Now he was staring at her hand as he slowly unwrapped it but still he would not meet her gaze. Once he saw her red and blistered flesh she noticed his grimace and then he was gently turning her hand this way and that, looking at her burns from different angles. She gasped in pain as his fingertip softly brushed her angry-red skin and she jerked her hand away.

"You need more medicine," he said, his voice deepening with frustration as his eyes finally met hers for the first time that morning. "You should've told me they were this bad."

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and gestured toward his own scarred face, "I thought you already knew."

He looked away but said, "Come. Sit down and I'll do what I can."

She followed him back to the pallet of furs they'd shared and sat while he went to his saddlebag again and dug out the little bottle. He came back to her and sat down facing her. He unwrapped her other hand and his voice sounded oddly embarrassed as he said, "I won't hurt you if I can help it. Be still so I don't poke you."

She let him smear the milky salve over her left hand first, sighing as the oiliness coated her stinging flesh and soothed it some. His dark eyes flicked upward and met hers for the briefest moment before looking back down again, "Feeling better?"

Elsebeth nodded, "So far so good."

He grunted in approval and soon he was rewrapping her hand and moving on to the next one. As he poured out a bit more of the medicine from the bottle onto her right hand, she studied his face and the scar tissue that covered the right side. It must've been a very hot fire to sear his flesh so cruelly. Very hot indeed.

Gently, her voice so soft that it was barely audible, she asked, "Sandor, how did you get burned? Was it from a fire like last night?"

The words were out of her mouth before she knew that she was going to say them and she could've kicked herself. He looked away from her hand and she felt a shiver run up her back when his eyes met hers again. His eyes were no darker than they normally were but there was something dark behind them; some memory that haunted him and helped shape a part of who he was.

"My brother," he said.

She felt the surprise register on her face, "Your brother?"

"When we were children there was a man who made toys," he said, his eyes never wavering and trapping her gaze with his own. "Gave one to me and one to my older brother Gregor. He was mostly grown and didn't care for it anyway but when he found me playing with it one day he got angry." Sandor's upper lip curled into a very hound-like snarl and his hand tightened a little on hers, making her gasp suddenly in pain. Sandor didn't notice, his eyes bored into her, through her, and the intensity of his gaze left her with a warning feeling stirring in her gut. "I was much younger and smaller than him, just a little boy, but that didn't matter to Gregor. He saw that I had dared to take what was his and he intended to make me pay for it. He picked me up without a word and pressed my face down onto the fire. He held me down and I screamed over and over again while I listened to the fire consume me and smelled my flesh burning. He melted half of my fucking face off just because I touched something that belonged to him."

Elsebeth could feel his fingers nearly crushing her hand now and tears were running down her face from the pain. But it wasn't only her pain that caused them. He'd been a little boy, just a little boy, and he'd been hurt so badly. She didn't know how he was still alive or why but she knew that it had altered his life from that day forward. It had made him into a man who looked like a monster.

Sandor seemed to come back to himself little by little and looked down to see that he was squeezing her hand compulsively with his much bigger one. He released her immediately and said, "Fuck. Your hand..."

She looked down and saw that he had broken several of the blisters open and they were weeping clear fluid. It stung with every breath of air that caressed it but she looked back at Sandor and said, "It's fine."

"No," he said, gently taking her hand in his once more. "I didn't realize...I didn't mean to do that."

"I'll be okay," she said, hastily wiping at her eyes and cheeks with the back of her free hand. "It looks worse than it actually is."

His eyes met hers again and she couldn't read the expression on his face this time. He was silent as he put more medicine on her hand and rewrapped it. Soon they were back on the road and this time she couldn't help but notice that neither one of them were so careful about keeping space between them as they had been before.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers flare when hunger sets in. Elsebeth learns that The Hound is not easily cowed.

~Seven~

"I'll be back soon," Sandor told her, pulling the strap of her quiver over one big shoulder.

Elsebeth watched him walk away through the trees and soon even the sound of his footsteps had faded away to nothing. She looked down at her bandaged hands and flexed them briefly, wincing at the tightness of her slowly healing skin. It had been three days since the night of the fire and her hands were getting better but she still couldn't use them for much. They'd only eaten once in all that time, at a tavern on the outskirts of another tiny village that had been full of more people with hostile stares. Since then they had been riding and for the last two days there had been nothing. Sandor might've been great with his big unwieldy-looking sword but he couldn't hit shit with a bow. 

When he came back empty-handed again an hour later she groaned in frustration and snatched the bow from his hands, "Give it here, Hound. If you want something done right..."

"Fucking bows," he said, his voice a rasp of anger. "Only weak men and girls use bows."

Her own anger rose to meet his and she threw her next words at him at him like a slap, "At least those girls and weak men would be eating right now."

A flash of fury in his dark eyes before they narrowed down into slits and she turned away, heading out the way he'd just come from. She heard him call her a foul name but she ignored that and kept walking, her hand burning and stinging where she gripped the wooden curve of her bow far too tightly.

After an hour and a half of stalking angrily through the woods, Elsebeth spotted a dove in the air and took aim. She tried but she just couldn't make the shot. The pain was too bad and her arrow didn't fly true or anywhere near far enough. She almost screamed in fury at the stupid bird as it flew off unharmed into the darkening sky. Her hands aching worse than ever, she retrieved her arrow and then headed back to the camp where she'd left Sandor.

As she arrived she saw immediately that both he and Stranger were gone. She felt tears trying to form in her eyes and clenched her jaw against them. Of course he was gone. What else had she been expecting? He hadn't wanted to travel with her in the first place, she'd known that. Elsebeth was surprised that he'd stuck around as long as he had. Well fuck him. She hoped he choked on his next meal.

She stoked the fire again, ignoring the hunger pangs in her middle, and thought that it'd be best to just get some sleep. She lay down still angry and her throbbing hands didn't help matters much. Elsebeth cursed that ugly dog for leaving her without even so much as a word of goodbye.

***

She awoke many hours later to someone shaking her shoulder rudely. She sat up and saw The Hound crouched beside her with an incredibly ugly boar's severed head gripped between his big, calloused hands.

"What?"

Sandor gave her another one of his angry smiles and wagged the boar's head at her, it's thick tongue lolling out of it's open mouth and dripping blood so dark that it looked black. He was taunting her with it and she realized that he was taking some kind of mean pleasure out of it.

"Still hungry?" He asked, his cold smile wider now as her eyes met his. "How do you feel about pig?"

Later Elsebeth and Sandor ate their midnight dinner by the firelight. She sat there beside him gobbling the delicious meat and then licking the grease from the unburned parts of her hands. Once their equally ravenous appetites were sated they both sat back and watched the flames in silence.

After a long, almost peaceful moment, Sandor was the first to speak. "That was a tasty fucking pig," he said and took a long drink from his wineskin.

"Aye, it was," she agreed, taking the skin when he passed it to her.

He grunted and picked at his big horsey teeth with one grimy fingernail, "I'm good at killing things, you know that? Not just pigs; men and women, too."

Elsebeth couldn't ignore this implied threat, not when she could still feel the hostility coming off of him in waves. True to her own nature, she responded to it in kind, her words tinged with undisguised antagonism, "Maybe...but I know you got lucky tonight."

He regarded her with a sideways glance that held no warmth, "Do you?"

"Aye, you had no bow and no spear. That means it rushed you and you got lucky. It takes no great skill to kill something when it's charging right at you." She said, knowing she was goading him on and not caring. "Any fool can swing a sword."

His eyes met hers fully for the first time since he'd awoken her hours before and the shifting shadows over his face made them seem darker than ever. "Fuck you," he growled. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I'd like to see you take one that size on with that piss-poor blade of yours. It would be digesting that oh-so-pretty face of yours right now."

Elsebeth felt heat flush her cheeks and she shoved his wineskin back at him suddenly, "I'd put an arrow through its eye at a hundred yards. I wouldn't let it get close enough to make use of my blade."

He smiled his angry smile again as his eyes searched her face contemptuously and he said, "It would've gutted you and left you dying smelling your own shit. Which is just what I should've done to you the moment you burned your stupid fucking hands and became useless to me."

Elsebeth raised her right hand and slapped him across the face; breaking open all of her nearly-healed blisters and immediately reawakening the pain that had been mostly dormant for the last few hours. Sandor's head rocked back from the force of her blow and he dropped his wineskin into the dirt between his big booted feet. She knew it was a mistake the moment she did it but she had no time to apologize or try to make amends somehow. The Hound roared in incoherent rage and brought one hand up to grip her throat and cruelly squeeze, shoving her backward at the same time.

His full weight fell on top of her, crushing her, and she began digging for the knife in her belt before he released her neck and snatched both of her wrists in his big hands. He pinned them to the ground on either side of her head and she struggled with all of her might against him but he was more than twice her size and it was no use. She wouldn't be free again until he decided to let her go.

"You motherfucker!" Elsebeth raged, her face red with anger, her blue eyes staring up at him with real hatred for the first time. "Let me go or I'll-"

"You'll what?" he interrupted, growling at her through clenched teeth as his huge hands gripped her slender wrists so hard that she felt the little bones within grinding together painfully. He laughed his next words but it was equal parts mockery and amusement, "You'll fucking what?"

She screamed in rage and struggled harder than ever against him, the veins and tendons standing out visibly in her neck and her face turning purple from the effort. She was trying desperately to break his hold on her somehow but it was just as futile as before.

He laughed at her again and said, "Come on, I think you can do better than that. Show me what you really got, Wildling bitch."

"Let me go, you ugly bastard!" Elsebeth shouted at him, panting hard as her struggles finally began to slow a little. "I'm going to fucking KILL YOU!"

"You can't," he told her, sounding undisturbed by her threat. In fact, he sounded as if he were really enjoying himself now. "I could take a bite out of your throat if I wanted to and you couldn't do a fucking thing about it."

She shrieked loud enough to make him wince and for a moment her efforts to free herself renewed with surprising force. He still had no trouble at all holding her down, however, and he watched her as she began to quickly tire again. He saw every tear that rolled down her flushed cheeks as she finally slowed to a stop. Sandor continued to pin her down just as tightly as before as he asked, "Are you done?"

"You're a hateful fuck," she said, not looking at him. "Leave me be."

"Still want to fucking kill me?"

Her eyes met his and she said, "I saved your life."

He looked at her for a long moment as if uncertain of what to do next before quickly releasing her right wrist to grab at her belt. He took her knives away, every one, and she didn't move to stop him. She probably couldn't have even if she tried, her hands and wrists hurt too badly. She hadn't really meant what she said, anyway.

Once she was stripped of her weapons, the Hound released her other wrist and slowly got off of her. He watched her carefully as he tucked her knives away in his own pockets. After another long moment in which he seemed uncharacteristically unsure of himself, he said, "Let's just go to sleep."

Elsebeth watched him turn and walk away, the tears on her face finally drying as he began shaking out his furs to make a pallet. She slowly got to her feet and wiped at her eyes; brushing the dirt off of herself and ignoring Sandor even though she could feel his eyes on her. She went to her own furs, lying down and covering herself until only the tangled locks of her brown hair were visible beneath his watchful gaze.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elsebeth try to form a truce.

~Eight~

Elsebeth woke the next morning and her body was a chorus of aches and pains; her flesh bruised and scraped and sore. She couldn't see Sandor's fingerprints standing out on her throat like a brand but she could definitely feel them. She felt as though she'd fought a pissed off bear and lost.

Looking around the silent camp, she saw that Sandor was still sleeping beneath his furs across the ashes of their fire and frowned. She stood and walked over to where he lay, her feet making no sound on the grass beneath them. Standing over him she saw that he lay on his back, his face still etched in its usual scowl even in slumber. She watched the rise and fall of his big, armored chest for a long while with her vigilant blue eyes before Stranger gave an anxious whinny from where he stood twenty paces away and drew her attention to him.

She looked up at the horse as her mouth twisted with dark humor, "Don't worry, boy. I'm not thinking any bad thoughts...not yet, anyway."

Stranger's dark eyes regarded her with a certain kind of animal intelligence and snorted; shaking his head a little as if in response to her words. Still wearing her strange smile, she looked back down at Sandor to see that his eyes had opened and that he was watching her carefully again; his irises nearly the same deep shade of brown as his horse's.

"What do you want?" He asked gruffly, his one eyebrow drawn up in what might've been an expression of confusion on a man that had two.

She shook her head at him, her smile slowly disappearing, "Nothing. Just making sure you're still breathing."

His scowl deepened even further but she turned and walked away, leaving to go behind a tree and take care of her usual business. When she came back she found him carefully building the fire up again.

Without turning to look at her, he asked, "Hungry?"

"Aye," she said and would say no more.

They ate more roasted boar meat and when they were done, Elsebeth began to gather her things. She could feel Sandor watching her again but pretended not to notice. She didn't want to speak to him after last night. She didn't feel up to being mocked or laughed at this morning. She didn't want a repeat of last night's scuffle, either. Even thinking about it made her cheeks flame red with embarrassment.

After everything was gathered up and tied onto the back of Stranger again, Sandor unexpectedly broke the silence between them, "You think this is bothering me?"

"Come again?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"You're not talking to me," he said, clearly annoyed by her feigning ignorance. "You're doing it to fuck with me because you think I don't like it."

"Oh," she said in a neutral tone. "I see."

He yanked hard on the buckle of his saddlebag and Stranger gave a surprised snort; flicking his tail twice as if in indignation. Sandor muttered curses to himself as he dug through the bag's contents and finally produced the little bottle of salve. He turned to her and grabbed at her arm roughly, beginning to unwrap the bandage on her left hand without asking.

As he dabbed more medicine on her palm he said, "Well, you're wrong. I love it when you're not constantly flapping your lips at me. Finally I have relief from your ceaseless chatter."

Elsebeth made a 'hmm' noise before falling silent once more.

As he worked on her right hand, the one she had hurt slapping him the night before, she could see him growing more and more agitated by her continued silence. The clenched set of his jaw, the fevered concentration on the task at hand, the rude grabbing and pulling of her arms; everything said he was not actually enjoying himself in the least. She wondered if he felt guilty after seeing the bruises he'd left on her and, if so, she wondered why.

After he finished bandaging her right hand, wrapping it a bit too tightly, he finally gave up on pretense and sneered, "You shouldn't have hit me."

"No," she agreed, striving to stay calm and collected even in the face of his current mood. "And you shouldn't have said what you did, either. I burned my hands saving your miserable fucking life and that's the thanks I get?"

His eyes met hers and for a long moment they stood there staring at each other. She could still see that he was angry with her, very much so, but behind it there was something else. Was it a hint of guilt that she picked up in his dark eyes? She hoped so. He deserved to feel guilty.

"Let's get going," he said, finally looking away from her angry stare and scowling harder than ever. "We're wasting daylight."

***

They came upon an abandoned house a few hours before dark would come that night and Sandor brought Stranger to the tiny stable sitting off to one side. Without speaking they gathered their things and went inside. There was a very worn table and chairs, an equally worn cupboard and a straw-stuffed bed on a rickety wooden frame against one wall. There was also a little fire pit with a pot hung suspended over it where the former occupants cooked their meals. She thought it would serve them nicely for one night.

Sandor had bought a few supplies after they passed through a little village around midday and the first thing Sandor did was go to the cupboard and search it. After a moment she saw him dusting out an old mug made from goat's horn to drink his wine out of and went out back to the tiny vegetable garden to see what she could find. She found a few good-sized carrots and parsnips, brushing the soil from them and dumping them inside her shirt, her mouth already watering. Coming back in, she saw Sandor drinking wine and building up a fire under the cookpot. As had been the case all that day, neither of them acknowledged the other's presence.

Elsebeth chopped the carrots and parsnips after Sandor relented and gave her back the smallest of her knives. After rinsing out the pot and filling it with a bit of water, she threw the vegetables in with a little salt and some of the leftover boar meat. Once it was simmering she went to the table and sat down in the chair next to the Hound, placing her stiff hands on the surface of the scarred wooden table.

He cleaned the dust out of another old mug and poured her some wine as well. She took it with a word of thanks that he nodded at and drank deeply, savoring the sweet taste of it as washed over her tongue.

They watched the fire for a long time and finally he broke the strained silence and said, "It smells good."

She nodded faintly, "It does."

They drank more wine and when the stew was ready she poured them both a hearty serving into old wooden bowls; setting them aside to cool. Sandor poured her another mug of wine and pushed it back across the table at her. She took it and drank deeply, feeling him watching her again all the while.

"Do you want the rest of your knives back?" he asked her suddenly.

Elsebeth met his eyes for the first time since that morning and said, "Aye."

He leaned back to dig through his pack sitting next his right leg and pulled them out one by one, slapping them down on the table. He pushed them over to her with the side of one hand and said, "As long as you don't tell me you're going to fucking kill me, you can keep them."

Elsebeth gave him a nod, "Fair enough. I'll make sure you're the last to know if I decide that I want to."

His scowl deepened but he said nothing and she thought that sometimes the man had no sense of humor whatsoever. They ate their stew and Elsebeth thought it turned out okay. It filled her belly anyway. Sandor's only comment was, "Needs more salt."

When they were done they sat at the table and drank more wine. Elsebeth had already had several horns of it but she felt nothing. This southern wine was tasty but had no real kick; she could drink it all day and never feel more than a slight buzzing in her head. 

The Hound also seemed not to feel much...for a little while. He continued to drink his grimly and with no real pleasure at all, but after several cups she noticed him slowing down a little. Looking closer at him, she saw that his scruffy cheeks were flushed and that his dark eyes didn't seem as aware as before.

Sandor felt her gaze on him and turned to look at her, the firelight playing across the fleshy ruin above his right eye that trailed backward onto his scalp; the greasy hair he pushed over to that side barely covering it. She saw his eyes try to focus as they narrowed on hers and he blinked several times at her before he spoke.

"What?" he asked. "Why are you staring at me?"

Elsebeth shrugged and said, "I've never seen you drunk before."

He sucked his bottom lip through his teeth in an angry sneer and then released it, "I'm not drunk."

"If you say so."

She poured herself another cup and he said, "I never get drunk enough to suit me. There's not enough wine in all of Westeros to satisfy my thirst."

She nodded, "I'm assuming Westeros must be a pretty big place then."

He regarded her with another one of his angry smiles and looked her up and down in a dismissive way. "That's right," he said. "You're a Wildling. You don't know a fucking thing about anything."

She tried to bite back a smart reply but she couldn't, "And you're some kind of knight who deserted his post and spends his time drinking and being unpleasant to everyone that he possibly can."

"I'm not a knight," he growled at her.

"No?" Elsebeth asked, pointing at the big black helmet fashioned to look like a snarling dog's head lying on the ground by his pack. "Do all southerners wear such fancy armor, then?"

Sandor slammed his cup down on the table and wine sloshed out over the rim, dousing his hand and wrist in a deep purple-red wave. "I never took my vows," he told her, his lips still twisted in that same hateful sneer. "Why should I have when they meant nothing? My brother was a knight and he raped and pillaged and slaughtered more innocents than any gang of thugs I ever ran across."

Elsebeth took a closer look at him and saw an unfamiliar shine in his eyes. Surely those couldn't be tears.

"Knights," he growled in distaste, slurping at his wine again before looking back at her. "Fucking cunts. All of them. Never met one that I liked."

Elsebeth chewed on her lower lip a minute but said nothing to this. What could she say? She knew very little about them apart from stories her father and Mance had told her. She thought they were supposed to be honorable but the Hound would know, wouldn't he? She would have to take his word for it.

After a long time of silence in which they only drank more and more wine, she saw Sandor's head sink further and further down toward the table. Finally his unburned cheek touched the wood and that was that. She took his wine away and finished it. Then she left him there snoring loudly and went to the rickety old bed. It creaked when she climbed in and she heard the Hound's snoring stutter for a moment before resuming once more.

She curled up on the stiff mattress and covered herself with her own furs, kicking the moth-eaten rag of a blanket off that had been lying there. She listened to Sandor snore loud enough to shake the walls down and thought that she'd never be able to sleep. Moments after closing her eyes, however, she did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and The Hound's feud is forgotten when they find themselves in a dangerous situation.

~Nine~

Elsebeth and the Hound traveled for two more days, staying mostly silent and cautiously civil around one another. They reached what Sandor called the Riverlands on the afternoon of the second day. It was ravaged and war-torn beyond anything she'd ever seen or could've imagined. Every little settlement they came upon was either razed to the ground or occupied by only the rotting corpses of its former inhabitants. The evidence of a brutal war was astoundingly pervasive all around and she had to fight back tears when they found whole families butchered by the roadside with their few meager possessions scattered around their slowly blackening bodies.

It was senseless. Whatever war these Kings and Lords were fighting, it was the common folk who paid for it the most. Usually with their homes, their livelihoods and, sometimes, their lives.

They found no inns or taverns untouched by the horror of war and at sunset they camped in a grove of trees near a river that the Hound neglected to tell her the name of. With no fresh meat they had no need to build a fire so they ate only stale, near rock-hard bread, dried peas and mealy-looking apples they'd scavenged from an abandoned house outside of a fire-scorched village they'd passed through hours before. She asked if maybe they could try to spear some fish but he only looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"You don't seem to understand the situation," he told her, working on the last few bites of his ration of the bread. "If we're spotted by Lannister men we'll be outnumbered and outmatched. We have to keep our heads down and our eyes and ears open until we're past them."

"Why would the Lancer men-"

"Lannister," he corrected around a mouthful of food.

"As you say," she allowed with a wave of one hand. "But...why would they bother us? We're just passing through; we're not soldiers. None of these people were. Why waste time killing people who have nothing?"

He looked away from her for a minute, chewing his bread, and finally said, "They do it because they can. The strong kill the weak and take what they want. It's always been that way."

Elsebeth thought of the bodies on the side of the road. What could they have possibly owned that these soldiers would want? Was the act of killing itself the reward? If so, she didn't understand how folks in the south could call this civilization.

"It's not just soldiers you have to worry about, Wildling," Sandor continued, drawing her attention back to him. "We could slip past a garrison if we're careful and lucky. I'm more worried about bandits. They'll look like anyone else before they ride up on us. Men, women, children. We can't trust a single stinking fucking one of them. Desperation can drive men into evil acts like you wouldn't believe."

Elsebeth knew of desperation. Aye, she was a Wildling who had been born in the blackness of a bitter winter. One of only a few babes who'd managed to survive all those long, hopeless hours. She had also survived three more since infancy; killing, stealing, doing whatever had to be done to get by just a little longer. This was one of the few areas where she knew more about the world than Sandor did. Now with the Wights appearing again in her homeland after so many generations of their absence, she feared that soon the Hound and the rest of these strange folk beyond the wall would understand true desperation as well.

She thought that she and her surly companion couldn't get to this so-called Narrow Sea and the lands beyond it fast enough.

***

Elsebeth was on watch. She'd already slept several hours before Sandor woke her and laid down to get a few snores of his own in before sunrise. She sat beside the big trunk of a tree and watched the moonlight sparkle on the surface of the river. The landscape looked much nicer at night, everything was dark and silent and you could almost forget that when the sun rose again you'd see the same death and destruction marring the land as before.

She was so relaxed and comfortable that for a moment she almost didn't see men creeping through the shadows towards her until they were within range of her bow. Her heart began to pound as she saw them come forward, crouched low and slinking like rats, and she readied herself; notching an arrow and pointing it at the one closest to her. 

She thanked the gods that her hands had finally healed enough to work again and released the first arrow. It took the man down silently but the others saw and immediately scattered; too many of them moving too fast for her to get a count. She aimed at the slowest and took him down, too. Then they were gone; hiding behind bushes or the riverbank.

Elsebeth ran back toward where Sandor lay sleeping and rudely kicked him in his thigh. He came awake with a growl and she wasted no time, "Men approaching! Get your fucking sword!"

The Hound leapt to his feet despite his lack of deep sleep and he quickly drew his sword from its sheath on the ground. Facing her with eyes that looked almost black in the moonlight, he hissed, "Where?"

Elsebeth kept her bow ready with the next arrow, trying to look all around them at once. "Over there," she whispered back in answer, pointing at the tree she'd been leaning against. "I brought down two and the rest scattered."

"How many?"

She met his eyes and saw them widen at the look on her face, "Lots."

"Fuck," he sneered, his eyes darting here and there. "If there's enough of them they'll try to surround us."

Elsebeth went to the nearest tree and began climbing it, working her way up to the first thick branch with confident strength and agility. Just as she'd found a good vantage point and seated herself, wrapping her long legs around the branch and crossing her ankles to anchor herself, the first of the men came running out of trees toward Sandor. He parried the first man's clumsy swing and shoved his sword into his unprotected belly, the man's guts spilling out onto the dirt below them. Elsebeth put an arrow in the second one's eye and the Hound went for the third as he yelled incoherently and tried to skewer Sandor with his spear.

Sandor knocked the spear aside and slashed viciously upward, splitting the man from groin to gullet. Elsebeth's arrow found a fourth man and he went down screaming. The Hound silenced him, slipping the dripping end of his sword into the screaming man's throat. More men rushed out of the darkness around them and Elsebeth lost sight of Sandor as she took as many as she could down; one, two and three in rapid succession. The battle went on until she had felled at least four more men rushing into the fray with swords and spears, hearing Sandor's growls and grunts of effort until the last man, and finally she looked over at him.

He was just slashing through the amateur swordsman when she saw a woman in filthy rags approaching him from behind. The ragged woman had a dagger held high to stab into the back of Sandor's unprotected neck; her footsteps lost in the sound of Sandor's last man's dying scream. Elsebeth shot her through the middle and the woman doubled over in pain, dropping the dagger and clutching at the arrow imbedded in her stomach.

Sandor spun around on one heel to face the groaning woman just as Elsebeth's final arrow hit her right in the heart. She was dead before she even hit the dirt; a confused look of pain still showing on her filth-streaked face. Sandor looked back at Elsebeth but she was already climbing back down from the tree, moving with the same easy grace as before.

She walked over to him and said, "Thought I might miss the bitch. She came very close to ending it for you."

The Hound watched her as she bent and pulled her arrows out of the dead woman. She could feel his eyes again but she busied herself with searching the woman and stripping her of her few possessions. After a moment in which she still felt Sandor's gaze upon her growing heavier and heavier, she turned back to look him and asked, "Are you going to help me or are you going to stand there for the rest of the night?"

He grunted and looked away suddenly, bending to wipe his sword on the pants leg of his final kill. "You're pretty good with that bow, Wildling," he said, his expression unreadable. "Much better than I had expected." 

She smiled as she searched another dead man, "Aye and you're good with that big ugly sword of yours." She paused to wipe her bloody hands on a rag she'd taken from the dead man's pocket and smiled over at him. "We make quite the pair, don't we?"

He didn't look over at her this time but she thought she heard amusement in his voice again after so many days of strained civility, "It seems that we do, after all."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound and Elsebeth can't seem to catch a break in the Riverlands.

~Ten~

Elsebeth saw the little village before Sandor did. She pointed with one hand at the smoke curling up over the trees ahead and said, "There." 

The Hound grunted and shifted a little in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in. They'd been riding for hours and they were both tired and sore. Even after two uneventful days and nights, having their time to sleep cut in half so that someone could always be on watch would make even the strongest man or woman weary to the bone. They'd managed it so far but Elsebeth hoped they would be able to go back to sleeping more than four or five hours a night pretty soon.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find somewhere to get a drink," he said, sounding even more angry than he usually was.

"Maybe," she agreed, "It'd be nice to get off this saddle for a little while, anyway."

Sandor only grumbled a curse and said no more.

As they drew nearer they began to see the houses through the trees and, considering that they appeared to be more or less intact, Elsebeth had hope that there would be an inn or a tavern where they could rest for a little while. As Stranger's steady gait brought them ever closer, music came to them on a soft sigh of wind; accompanied by the sound of a man singing along. It was off-key and the man sounded either drunk or in pain but, as they finally came through the trees and into the village proper, she could make out the words clear enough.

"...A coat of gold, a coat of red  
A lion still has claws  
And mine are long and sharp, my Lord  
As long and sharp as yours  
And so he spoke, and so he spoke  
That Lord of Castamere  
And now the rains weep o'er his halls  
With no one there to hear  
Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls  
And not a soul to hear."

Sandor suddenly jerked on the reins about halfway through the second verse and tried to back Stranger away, seeming to realize something was wrong with this picture. Elsebeth turned to look at him and met his eyes with her own, her heartbeat quickening as she saw the growing look of alarm in them. She opened her mouth to ask what was the matter but then a man in full armor emerged from behind a tree, walking toward them with a bow in hand and an arrow pointed at Elsebeth's vulnerable chest.

There was raucous laughter when the song finally came to an end but the man with the arrow pointed at her wore no smile. His face was pinched and sweaty as he continued to aim at her and ordered, "Both of you, off the horse. Now."

"We don't want any trouble," Elsebeth said, slowly raising her hands to show him that they were empty. She had the string of her bow over one shoulder, but he was barely looking at her even though she was the one he targeted. "We were just looking for a place to get a hot meal."

"Shut up, bitch," the man snapped, his brow and unshaven cheeks pouring copious amounts of sweat from under his odd little helmet as his eyes met hers for the briefest moment. "I wasn't talking to you." Once more, his gaze shifted and his beady little eyes regarded Sandor just behind her. "You. Off the fucking horse before I put an arrow between her tits."

She felt Sandor's hesitation and for a moment she thought he would spur Stranger forward and try to run the man down. If he did he could probably escape before the men inside the tavern knew what was going on but Elsebeth would surely die. Her hands began to shake as the moment stretched out longer and longer. She didn't want to die but it was up to the Hound how this little spectacle would play out.

"This is the last time I'm going to tell you," the stocky little man said, his eyes narrowing and the tip of his arrow wavering slightly from side to side. Maybe he'd also considered the possibility of being ridden down by Sandor's big black horse and that was why his hands were shaking. "I'm going to give you to the count of three and if you're both not off of that fucking horse-"

"Stick your numbers up your ass," Sandor snarled at him. "We're getting down."

He pushed at her back lightly and she obliged; carefully swinging her leg over one side and hopping off of the saddle. Sandor climbed down then as well and Elsebeth lowered her hands to her belt as the armored little man's attention was still fully on the Hound. She slid the smallest of her knives into her hand and kept it concealed from sight, the blade lying along her wrist and palm as she let her arms dangle loose alongside her hips.

She walked closer to the man and kept her voice light and non-threatening as she carefully closed the gap between them a single step at a time, "Please, ser. We don't want trouble. Let us pass. We'll pay you."

Never taking his eyes from the Hound, the little man shook his head, "Keep whatever piddling amount you have. The Lannisters will pay much more handsomely than you for this deserter." Then, shifting tone again, he barked at Sandor, "Unbuckle your sword belt and let it drop! Slowly!"

Sandor began to do so but at the same time he said, "If you think I'm just going to let you take me back to that little shit Joffrey and his cunt of a mother, you're sadly mistaken."

"Don't tempt me, you ugly bastard. They'll still pay for your head no matter how many arrows it has in it," the man in armor said, sweatier than ever under the weight of his supposed protection. "My hands are itching to do it, believe me."

Elsebeth had managed to get on one side of the man and still he only had eyes for the Hound, his arrow wavering more and more as he strained to keep the pressure up he needed to keep the bow drawn for so long. It was incredibly easy to creep up on him because he didn't see her as a threat whatsoever. She was just a woman, after all.

Her left hand snatched the arrow mid-shaft and the man released at the same time. His beady little rat eyes turned to really notice her for the first time just as she brought her concealed blade up and around his shoulder to sink into the gap between his helmet and shoulder plate. The bow string thwacked against her forearm painfully but the arrow stayed in her left hand as his hot blood gushed over her right one.

The man's eyes were still looking at her in surprise as Elsebeth twisted the blade viciously in his neck; ripping him open further. She heard him gargle through the blood filling his throat and then he crumpled to the ground to bleed in the dirt. She turned to look at Sandor and saw that he was buckling his sword belt again as quickly as he could.

"Back on the horse!" He hissed at her, running over and gripping her arm in one big hand, his eyes darting to the tavern door and then back at her again. "Hurry, before-"

Just then the tavern door opened and another armored man stepped out into the muted sunshine. He saw the bloody scene in the middle of the road right below and to the left of him and immediately shouted for the other soldiers in the tavern before the door had even begun to swing closed, "To arms! To arms!" He didn't wait, though, only rushed down the steps with his sword drawn; his face pulled back in a grimace of fury, ready to kill these two dirty people with his friend's still-warm body at their feet.

Sandor's sword met his with a clang of steel and they began their grunting and cursing, each trying to stab or slash the other. Elsebeth moved away about a dozen steps to the right and took the string of her bow off of her shoulder. She notched her first arrow just as the next soldier came flying out with his weapon in hand, drawing and releasing the arrow with the same fluid movement as always. Her arrow took him down, burying deep in his left eye, and then men were pouring out of the door in twos and threes, at least a dozen or so.

Elsebeth took down two more men, missed a third, and then as she bent her arm back for another arrow, something flew past her head; the wind whistling in her ear as the projectile missed her by mere inches. She looked back at the front of the tavern and saw an archer drawing another arrow out of his own quiver. She aimed and took him in the neck; blood pouring out of his mouth as he squawked in pain and fell over the railing and into the dirt below.

The singing of steel on steel seemed to fill her head and she glanced briefly at Sandor, seeing him fighting two men at once but holding his own with ease. He slashed one across the face and stabbed the other one right through his breastplate, the steel sinking through leather like a knife through butter. She looked away from him and saw a man charging her with his sword from her left. She waited a moment and then ducked under his sword and rolled. The man turned, confused as his sword sliced nothing but air, but then Elsebeth was standing, the longest of her knives in one hand. She grabbed his shoulder to hold him still and rammed the blade under his chin, slicing through the soft meat of his tongue and then through the jelly of his brain.

Another man charged her from the right and she yanked her blade out and tried to roll away a second time. He was quicker than the first man, however, and she felt his blade slice a long line across her left calf. She felt hot blood flowing and then she was on her feet again, facing the man who'd slashed her.

"I'm gonna gut you, whore," the man taunted, his smile nothing more than a rictus of hate beneath his bushy orange beard.

Elsebeth didn't feel the pain from her cut, not yet anyway, but blood was beginning to fill her shoe, making her squish every time she took a step. They circled each other for a moment and then she heard the sound of sudden, ungraceful movement from behind her. She turned just in time to avoid the sword that would've plunged into her back and quickly snatched another knife from her belt. The would-be backstabber had been running too hard to stop abruptly and he continued forward, falling face first into the dirt as her shoe caught his ankle and tripped him.

She looked up again and saw orange beard charging her now; using the first man's distraction as an opportunity to close the distance between them. She ducked under a blow that would've separated her head from her shoulders and brought her shorter blade down into the unprotected place between his legs, stabbing into his groin until the hilt stopped her.

He screamed and dropped his sword as she skewered his balls but only until her longer blade slipped into his throat and severed his vocal cords. Then he only stood there opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water until she ripped the blade out and he fell. She jumped on the backstabber's back just as he began trying to get to his feet and knocked his helmet off with one hand. He was still scrabbling in the dirt for his sword when she brought both of her blades down into his neck, twisting and twisting to open the wounds wider and wider.

She lifted an arm and wiped her blood-splattered face on her sleeve and got off of the dying man, turning to look at Sandor again. He was pulling his sword out of the belly of the last soldier but he was panting and she saw bright red blood pouring out from a deep cut somewhere on his leg. Elsebeth rushed over to him, her own cut forgotten, and caught him just as he stumbled while turning to face her.

"Oh gods," she said breathlessly, putting one of his heavy arms over her broad shoulders and helping him stand. "Oh, Sandor. You're hurt."

He winced as he took a step forward and more blood poured out of his right leg, just below the armored half-skirt covering his hips. He was bleeding in several other places but his leg was what concerned her. The blood was coming so very fast and her heart began to pound. 

"I'm fine," he said, still trying to catch his breath. "Come on, back on Stranger. Let's go now before more of them show up."

Elsebeth began tearing her shirt off near her midriff, making long strips out of the rough woven fabric. He saw and growled, "What the fuck are you doing? I said I'm fine. It's just a little blood."

"Shut the fuck up," she said, the venom of her words lost under the obvious concern for him. "I'll stop the bleeding on your leg here and then you'll get back on your gods-damned horse, all right?"

Working quickly, she folded one strip of her shirt into a thick pad and pressed it against the wound under his armor. Then she bent to wrap the long piece several times around his thigh before tying it tight.

"You're such a fucking woman, aren't you?" And he actually laughed even as he grunted in pain.

"Never could help it," she agreed, gritting her teeth as she strained to support his weight and work on bandaging his leg at the same time. "Even though I'd wished to change that a few times in my life because I thought it would've been easier to be one you stupid asses, I never did wake up to find that I'd grown a cock in the middle of the night. Found one there once or twice but it wasn't attached to me so that doesn't count, does it?"

Sandor laughed again, louder this time, and she was glad to hear it. If he could laugh like that maybe the wound wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Either way he was right, it was time to get going before any more soldiers showed up. But first, they needed supplies.

She helped Sandor up onto Stranger's back again and then ran for the tavern. She heard him yell for her but she waved a hand at him and kept running, the air blowing across the surface of her bare belly as she moved. She went through the tavern like a whirlwind, scaring a few serving girls the soldiers had let live as their temporary playthings. She took wine, food, water and a few clean linens, packing it all up in a cloth sack full of beans that she spilled on the floor.

Elsebeth ran back outside and found Sandor still sitting where she'd left him, his sword gripped tightly in one hand. He yelled at her and she kept running past him, toward the stables across the road. She heard him growl in frustration but he followed her and soon she was coming out of the stable on a big grey mare, the supplies tied haphazardly on the back of her plundered horse.

"You're fucking crazy," Sandor spat at her as they galloped away from the tavern and the little village. "You wasted too much time. We should've been long gone by now."

Elsebeth only smiled and said, "I'm tired of riding with you, Hound. Besides, we needed supplies so shut the fuck up and keep riding."

He growled louder than before and she laughed at him as she brought the mare around a curve in the road. He would live. That was enough for her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth opens up to The Hound just as he did with her before.

~Eleven~

An hour later, after finding another abandoned house far from sight of the road, she completely disregarded her own injury in favor of patching up Sandor's. The gash in his thigh wasn't as deep as she'd feared but it was almost as long as her hand and he'd bled a lot. Unfortunately, it required stitches to close it and allow it to heal properly. As she boiled some wine to clean the wound he saw her cut the linen she'd taken from the tavern at one end and begin pulling a long thread from it.

Drinking and sweating from the blazing fire in the tiny room, he said, "You're not doing it."

She didn't look up from the linen in her lap, "Not doing what?"

"I know what you're thinking and you're not sticking me with no fucking needle," he said, sounding like he was already halfway to being drunk again. "I'm serious, don't come near me with that or I'll slap it right out of your hands."

Elsebeth shook her head and said, "Don't be a baby. Just drink more of that wine so you won't feel it when I have to stick you."

She could feel his anger even from this far away but he kept his mouth shut and drank more wine as she'd advised. She waited until the boiled wine had cooled a little and brought a cup full over to where he sat leaning against one wall. There was no furniture other than a broken chair that they'd already used for firewood so she sat down on the dirt floor amongst the paper-dry rushes and said, "I need you to pull down your breeches."

"No," he said. "I won't."

Elsebeth met his gaze with her own and said, "Do it. I'm not asking."

Something in her burning blue eyes must have convinced him because he grumbled sourly under his breath and reached for the tie in front of his pants. He raised up a little to slip them down and she told herself not to look but did anyway. She saw his cock lying in a thick patch of pubic hair like a sleeping snake; pale and a bit bigger than she had expected but nothing extraordinary. She felt a blush rise in her cheeks at the sight of it and tried to hide her sudden discomfort by coughing into the crook of her elbow. She stared at a crack in the wall until he'd settled again with his bare ass in the dirt.

He saw her looking at it for that brief moment despite her play-acting and growled, "What?"

She looked over at him again but wouldn't meet his eyes with her own. She only looked at his wound and no further. "Nothing," she said, "Just be still."

He'd already removed the bandages and she could see that blood had come seeping out again; slowly now but if he moved too much it would become a flood once more. She poured a little of the hot wine onto the wound and he roared in pain, beating his fist against the wall until she thought he would knock the whole house down on top of them.

"Gods fucking damn you, woman!" He raged, his eyes shut tight against the pain. "That HURTS!!!"

She shushed him and poured a little more wine onto his blood-smeared flesh. He yelled again but not quite as loudly as the first time and she waited until he was done throwing his fit to say, "You have to be still, Sandor. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

He let out another pained growl and then he seemed to get a hold of himself and grew still for her. "Go on," he said, lifting his cracked cup to take another drink. "If you're going to do it, just do it."

"Aye," she agreed. 

He cried out again the first time she stuck him with the pointy end of her needle but he managed to stay still despite the pain. Working quickly and with a practiced hand, she put four stitches in; closing the wound up completely. She poured more of the boiled wine over his now sutured wound and cleaned the crusted blood away with a piece of cloth.

"There," she said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Sandor only muttered and drank more wine.

Elsebeth cleaned the rest of his wounds and bandaged the more serious ones but left the others exposed. As she stowed her needle into her pack once more, she heard him clear his throat and say, "You did good. I've seen Maesters who couldn't sew a wound that well."

"I've been doing it for years," she told him with a shrug. "I'd have been dead a few times if my mother hadn't shown me how."

Sandor was silent again and watched her cleaning her hands and then returning to the boiled wine sitting on top of their little fire. She sat down in the firelight and tended to her own wound. Her cut was mostly superficial and had stopped bleeding long ago but she wanted to clean it anyway. Anything to keep out an infection.

"What about those scars on your belly?" He asked her suddenly. "Where did those come from?"

She was glad that she was facing away from him so he couldn't see how her face changed, "Trynn."

"What the fuck's a Trynn?" He asked, slurping up more wine.

"He was my husband."

Sandor coughed on his mouthful of the sweet liquid and tried to stifle it with one hand. Once he'd caught his breath again, he wiped his mouth and asked, "Was?"

Elsebeth nodded slowly, "He died."

For a moment the only sound came from the wind whistling through the broken windows and the world outside of their little sanctuary plunged into darkness as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. She heard Sandor shift a little in his place against the wall until he spoke again, "What does any of this have to do with your dead husband? I asked about your scars."

Elsebeth rolled her pants leg back down and cleaned her hands before answering him, "You told me about your brother and what he did to you. He reminded me a little of Trynn. He also didn't like other people touching his things. He was a jealous man and quick to anger, I'd always known that. What I didn't know was that he was more than a little fucked in the head, too. Somehow he got the idea that I was screwing someone else behind his back and one night he got drunk and completely lost his mind. He beat the shit out of me and cut me so many times I thought for sure I'd die...but I didn't care about that. Not really. I was more worried about the baby inside me."

She could hear the surprise in his voice, "You have a child?"

"No," she said, wiping the single tear away from her cheek. Even after all this time the pain was always there, just under the surface, just as fresh as it had been the day she buried her little half-grown child by the weirwood tree. "Trynn hit and cut me so many times and I tried to protect my belly but I couldn't. After I lost the baby I waited until that nasty shit went to sleep drunk one night and I cut his throat. I buried his body that night and told whoever asked that he'd run off and left me. Nobody even questioned it."

The Hound was silent but she could feel him watching her again. She didn't want to meet his eyes, not now. She didn't want to see the look on his face; the horror or disgust she imagined was there would be too much to bear at this moment. He didn't understand. She didn't think that anyone would. That's why he was the only soul she'd told the truth to in all these years and she only told him because she decided that it didn't matter anymore.

Elsebeth had loved Trynn very much, despite his anger and jealousy, and she had tried to be a good wife to him for many years. But after he'd killed their child, the one person in her life she'd grown to love more than her husband, she'd done what needed to be done without hesitation. She couldn't have allowed him to live after that and she'd felt nothing after dragging the blade across his unprotected neck. She'd mourned her child but not her husband. Trynn hadn't deserved to be mourned.

Sandor surprised her by saying, "Come here. Have a drink with me."

She didn't look at him. In telling her tale, sadness had wrapped itself around her in its familiar embrace and her limbs felt too heavy to move. She only shook her head at him and curled up by the fire, letting sleep claim her again so she wouldn't have to think about those little fingers and toes or that perfect little mouth that would never draw breath. So she wouldn't have to mourn the life that could have been.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and The Hound share a drink and a few more uncomfortable truths with one another.

~Twelve~

Elsebeth woke hours later to feel someone's hands trying to lift her from the ground. She instinctively grabbed a knife out of her belt and held it up to the throat of the blurry figure hovering over her, her lips peeled back from her teeth in a half-aware, menacing snarl.

She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw that it was just the Hound looking down at her. "Calm yourself," he said, frowning, though his voice sounded less gruff than usual. "I only wanted to move you away from the fire. It's burned down but you're still sweating buckets."

"Oh," she quickly took the blade away from his throat. The razor-sharp edge had been just a hair's breadth from slicing into his flesh but, oddly enough, he seemed mostly unconcerned by it. "Sorry. Old habits and all."

He let go of her and shrugged, "No harm done."

She sat up and watched him walk back to his place by the wall. He was right, she was sweating. She swiped at her filthy brow with one hand, collecting the moisture there and flinging it away in disgust. She attempted to clean her hand on the what was left of her shirt and got to her feet. Elsebeth walked over to where he sat, leaning her back against the wall and sliding down until she was sitting on his right side; so close that their hips and shoulders were almost touching.

Sandor gestured to his left side and asked, "Wouldn't you prefer the view over here instead? I've been told it's much more pleasant to look at."

Elsebeth shook her head, "Your scars never really bothered me. Your sunny disposition more than makes up for it."

He gave his rusty laugh again and drank some wine. When he was done swallowing, he glanced over at her and offered the cup. She took it and drank, finishing what was left and licking her lips afterwards. She handed it back and he poured another cupful from the cask, handing it to her again.

She raised the cracked cup at him and nodded in thanks, downing it just as quickly as she had the other. This time when she gave it back he took the cup and poured for himself. "How's your leg?" she asked, watching his adam's apple bob up and down inside his thick neck as he swallowed. "Does it still hurt?"

He took the cup away from his mouth and belched before passing it over to her again, "Not so much as before. It itches like a mad bastard."

"Good," she said, pausing long enough to take another drink and pass the cup back. "That means it's healing already."

Sandor nodded and poured more wine, "Aye, that's what I told myself to keep from clawing the stitches out and ruining your hard work."

Elsebeth only nodded and silence descended once more; though it was a more comfortable one than she could ever remember passing between them before. They continued to share the wine and after a while they watched the last flame of the fire flicker out until there were only embers left glowing before them. The darkness was barely held back by the soft moonlight shining in through the window on the wall across from them but she didn't mind. She had stopped being afraid of the dark long ago.

"You can get some sleep now if you want," she told the Hound. "I don't think I'll be getting any more tonight."

She saw the shine of his eyes as they turned to look at her for a moment before glancing away again, "No. I'm not tired yet. If you hadn't woken when you did I wouldn't be sleeping for a few more hours anyway."

She shrugged and heard one of the horses out back whicker in the dark. Then an owl hooted outside, a lonesome sound that seemed to go on forever until Sandor turned to her and asked, "Did you really kill your husband?"

Elsebeth nodded, "I really did."

"Would you do it again?"

"What? Kill him?" she asked. "Aye, I'd kill him ten more times if I could."

"No," Sandor said with a shake of his head. "I mean...would you ever get married again? Try to have a family?"

She shifted a bit beside him, suddenly feeling uncomfortable for some reason she couldn't quite discern. "I don't know," she answered after a moment. "I hadn't really thought about it much, honestly."

Sandor nodded but remained silent. She watched his hand twitch toward his wound as if he wanted to scratch it but he seemed to realize what he was doing and reluctantly drew his hand away again. She got up from her place beside him and went over to his pack. He said nothing as she dug through it and found the little bottle of salve he'd used on her hands. It was mostly empty now but there appeared to be enough left to put a thin film over his wound.

When she came back and sat across from him, she showed him the bottle and he said, "I don't need that. Save it."

She waggled the bottle at him and said, "It helps with the itching." When he only frowned, his lips twisting into that now familiar grumpy look, she sighed, "If you're worried about me seeing your cock again, don't be. It's dark and, even if it wasn't, it's not as though it's something I haven't seen before."

Sandor grumbled but reached for the tie in front of his pants anyway; slipping them down to just above his knees. She undid the bandage and revealed his wound to the air once more. It was a little harder to see now in the dark but the wound stood out clear on his pale thigh thanks to the raised bumps of her stitches holding his flesh together. She poured a little bit of the salve onto her finger and began to rub it along the line of his cut. She heard him draw in a deep breath and he leaned his head back against the wall while she worked. Once the raised skin was shiny with salve, she replaced the cork in the bottle and took it back to his pack while he covered himself again.

Elsebeth came to sit beside him and he poured her another cup of wine, not looking at her. She drank and passed it back. After a long moment, she asked, "What about you, Sandor? Were you ever married? Got a couple of little Hounds running around somewhere?"

She saw him pause before lifting the cup to his mouth and wondered if maybe she shouldn't have asked. Maybe they'd had enough confessions for one night.

"No," he told her, his voice sounding strangely flat. "Are you fucking joking? No one would marry me or let me put a baby in their belly."

"Why not?" she asked. "Because of your face? Looks don't necessarily make the man. Some of the prettiest men I ever knew were liars and thieves or just plain idiots. There was man I knew, One-Eyed Thom, he looked like death-come-knocking but he was a hit with the women. Charmed the pants off of half the girls I knew. Maybe the fancy, high-born Lords and Ladies look at it differently here, but where I'm from a man with a few scars just means he's survived something that would've killed a lesser man."

He only sat there, the cracked cup gripped in one hand; his face hidden in shadow. She saw how still he'd become and suddenly felt as though she'd offended him somehow. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked, her voice growing much quieter; nearly a whisper now. "There I go, running off at the mouth again. Folks always told me I never knew when to shut up."

The Hound turned to look at her and his eyes shined in the scant moonlight; two points of light held within the deep recesses of his dark sockets. She felt a chill run up her spine even though the room was still fairly warm and felt a nervous fluttering in her lower belly. There was something about the tilt of his head, the set of his mouth; something that made her afraid of him for the first time in quite a while.

"Would you do that, Wildling?" He asked, his voice dripping with bitterness and disdain, his gaze never wavering from hers. "Would you want a monster's baby inside you again? You know, because it worked out for you so well the last time."

Elsebeth felt a lump rise in her throat and couldn't find her voice to answer him even if she'd wanted to. One-Eyed Thom hadn't ever looked so much like death-come-knocking as the Hound did right then. Something about the way he stared made her think he hated her in that moment. Really hated her and maybe wanted to snap her neck just for the fuck of it.

Sandor finally looked away from her shocked expression and set the cup down beside him. "I've changed my mind. I think I will sleep now," he said, pushing away from the wall and standing. "Wake me when it's first light. We don't want to stay here any more than we have to."

Then he walked away to lay down on the opposite end of the room and left her sitting there to look after him; clenching her jaw to fight back tears that were just as surprising to her as they might've been to him had he cared enough to look.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound is frustrated by Elsebeth's wild nature.

~Thirteen~

Sandor and Elsebeth arrived in the Reach after three more days of rough travel that, thankfully, held no more surprises. It was a little easier going now that she had her own horse but the Hound seemed to be in a worse mood than ever. He never smiled unless it was his angry smile and he certainly didn't laugh anymore. All he did was drink and curse and be unpleasant. She could feel him staring at her in that moody way of his every now and then but she tried to ignore it in an effort to keep the peace even though a part of her wanted to shout at him to quit it. She didn't completely understand what had transpired between them in the empty house or what she had done to earn his scorn but she could feel his hostility in every move or gesture since that night. They didn't speak of any of it...of course, there wasn't any chance to since they rarely spoke to each other at all.

Luckily, the Reach was luscious, beautiful, and untouched by war and it lifted her spirits somewhat despite Sandor's brooding stares. She spent much of her time on horseback marveling wide-eyed at all the lush gardens and orchards around them; the disturbing shadow of the Riverlands and the Hound slowly fading in her mind. Sandor had thrown his helmet aside the morning after they'd run across the soldiers and he'd bought a big black cloak from another traveller to cover himself so they felt less fear of him being recognized again. Even if they did have the misfortune of meeting more of those horrid Lannister men, they would not stand out among the other common folk so much as before. They were just two more weary refugees on a road that held too many to count. 

She'd spotted plenty of game here in these gorgeous lands; rabbit, deer, fowl and fish. It made her glad to think that, for a little while at least, they would not have to worry about going hungry. And, as they trotted up to an inn called 'The Rosewood' near dusk of that first day in the Reach, she felt her spirits brighten even further as she heard the sounds of laughter and good cheer within. She could certainly use a little bit of that after nothing but the Hound's scowling silence to keep her company these past few days.

"This looks like a promising spot," she told Sandor, forgetting for a moment that he had reverted back to his sourpuss ways once more. Good-natured laughter erupted from inside, muffled only by the walls separating them, and she felt a smile begin to curve her own lips at the sound, "Listen to them. They sound like they're having fun in there."

Sandor hawked a gob of something out of his throat and spat in the dirt, settling back on Stranger again and responding with an uninterested sounding grunt. Elsebeth sighed, shook her head, and tried again to ignore him. He could act like a sullen child if he wanted. She only cared about seeing people smiling again, even if it was not necessarily her that they were smiling at.

The Hound led the way to the stables in back and paid the boy there two coppers to feed and water their horses. Then they grabbed their packs and went inside. When they stepped in through the gaily painted door, Elsebeth saw a few eyes turn toward her and the Hound but most of them held only curiosity rather than suspicion and she felt herself relax a little. Just as she felt some of the tension melt from her shoulders, there came a sudden, intoxicating melody that began drifting through the room. Some wonderful combination of instruments she had never heard before that immediately captured her attention and drew her further into the room.

Elsebeth walked past a few tables full of people drinking and eating and saw a man near a huge fireplace with some sort of beautifully strange instrument on his lap. It was here that the music was born; not from several people playing several different instruments at once but just this one young man with this delightful contraption. It was a rather large, cumbersome thing lying across both his thighs and it was carved from a very dark wood that was oiled to an almost glowing sheen. There were strings going here and there along the middle and buttons and knobs and odd little wheels that she couldn't make sense of. It didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before and it certainly didn't sound like anything she'd ever heard before but she loved it almost instantly.

Elsebeth watched his nimble fingers dance along a row of funny little buttons near the bottom; his fingertips pushing each one and calling forth different notes of the melody as his other hand turned some kind of little hooked knob on the left side that played a different tune complementing the first. The music was fast paced and lively and people stood from their tables and began dancing around in a big open section of floor near him; many skirts rustling and boots stomping on the floor in time with the music. She saw the musician begin smiling as he played, probably happy with the simple fact that his music made people want to dance, but his eyes never left the strange instrument in his lap. She wondered if maybe when he looked away the magic of the music would stop; a beautiful spell that could only be broken by the end of his loving gaze upon it.

Elsebeth felt a smile stretch her own mouth as her eyes shifted away and she watched all the people dancing; their cheeks flushed, brows sweaty and smiles that matched her own showing on every face. It seemed this was a place where people came to forget their dreary day-to-day lives. Where they didn't come to drink and brood in silence like the Hound did but celebrated life similar to the way the free folk did. For her it was oddly like visiting home for a moment.

After a little while the music came to an end and people all around her began to pound their open hands together and cheer. Even though the concept of applause was new to her, she immediately understood the gratitude in it's intent and joined in; slamming her palms together again and again almost hard enough to hurt. She cheered a little as well as the musician bowed slightly, his golden curls bouncing beneath a little knitted hat, and then he flexed his long fingers and began another tune. This one was a little slower and not near as upbeat but it was still beautiful and people either returned to their tables for a drink or continued to dance slowly; their bodies swaying in time to the somewhat sorrowful tune. She thought they looked as if they were dancing underwater.

Elsebeth watched the musician and the dancers for a moment longer and then felt a huge hand descend on her shoulder. She turned to see Sandor standing there with his piercing brown eyes and, of course, with that deep frown still stamped on his face.

"Wine?" he asked, his voice a low growl in her ear.

Reluctantly, she nodded and followed him back to a table, glancing back over her shoulder at the young man and his wonderful music box. If Sandor had been a different sort of man in a different mood, she might've asked him to dance with her. But he wasn't so she resigned herself to sitting and drinking and watching the merriment unfold before her. At least she could watch other people have fun if not actually have it herself. They drank and ate when food came, some kind of vegetable stew that tasted even better than the wine, and she continued to watch the happy people while the Hound sat grumpily beside her.

Then, after her third cup of wine, a freckled man with sparkling blue eyes and a thick mop of shaggy red hair approached her and held out one hand. Elsebeth thought he looked like a friendly enough sort so she took his hand without even glancing at Sandor and allowed herself to be pulled into the middle of the floor. The others made room for them as she danced with the man and laughed when he grabbed her hand and twirled her around. It was another fast melody and she tried to keep up with the other women as they lifted their skirts above their knees and danced a complicated jig; heel and toe tapping like madwomen. She really tried but this was something new to her and she couldn't keep up. Her feet tangled together and she stumbled into the friendly man. They both laughed as he caught her under her arms and kept her from falling to the floor. She righted herself again, still smiling, and then a hand gripped her above her elbow; crushing her arm beneath huge fingers that were as hard as steel.

Elsebeth saw the friendly man look up and his eyes widen; a look of fear coming over his homely face like a raincloud passing over the sun. He quickly backed away and disappeared into the crowd as she turned to look up and see Sandor standing there with his eyes narrowed and a look of seething rage on his face.

"What are you doi-"

But he was already jerking her away and people were fleeing from the big man in the black cloak that partially covered the burned side of his face. She attempted to pull her arm out of his grip and stumbled as she tried to keep from being dragged. "Sandor!" she cried out in anger and disbelief. "What are you doing?! Stop it!!"

"Shut your mouth," he growled, shrugging their packs up higher on his shoulder as he led her away from the thrall of people and toward a wide staircase leading up to the second floor.

"Let me go!" she shouted, not caring that people were staring at them as he dragged her up the stairs. "Let me go, you shit!"

The Hound growled again and yanked on her arm harder, forcing her up the last few steps and then down the hall to an open door at the farthest end. She cried out in surprise as he shoved her inside and came in after her. She nearly fell when he released her and she turned back around just in time to see him slamming the door and drawing the bar across it.

"Have you lost your mind?" Elsebeth asked him, her cheeks burning with anger, her hands clenched into hard fists that caused her fingernails to dig almost painfully into her palms. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He turned to face her and she actually took a step back at the look in his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" he asked, coming closer and dumping their bags on the floor without so much as a glance at them. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Don't draw attention. How many times have I told you that? How many times do I have to tell you to keep your head down and your mouth shut before you'll listen to me?"

"A lot of people were dancing," she said. "Nobody was paying any more attention to me than they were to anyone else."

The Hound's big strides ate up the distance between them until he was close enough to grab her again and she faced him without trying to show how much the look on his face unnerved her. "You're not here to dance with some farmer's boy and have a good time, Wildling," he snapped at her. "We're passing through, not making fucking friends with these people."

"I didn't plan on going home with him to meet his family, Hound," she said, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. "I only wanted to dance, that's all."

His teeth were revealed in his usual angry smile and he said, "Just do what the fuck I tell you to do, all right? Gods damn it, woman. You really think no one's going to notice you? Maybe even remember you or possibly the big ugly fuck you're traveling with? You stick out like a broken toe and when people notice you they notice me, too."

"Fine," she said, her teeth clenched together so hard that her jaw began to ache from the pressure. "Have it your way. I'll not speak to anyone or smile or laugh and especially not dance. I'll be as joyless and hostile as I can and everyone will be too afraid to look me in the eye, just like they are with you."

Sandor's own jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he continued to stare down at her, "That's the way I like it."

"Aye," she said, slowly nodding and lifting an eyebrow at him. "Because no one ever remembers the giant scary man sitting in the corner drinking and growling at everyone who comes too close."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Sandor said, his brown eyes slipping closed for a moment before opening to regard her with the same fierce expression again. "Do as I say and we won't have any problems. Do you understand?"

Elsebeth turned away from him and went to her pack. She began digging through it and found her spare set of clothes. "Aye, as you say, Sandor. I'll be a good little Wildling bitch, Sandor," she said, standing and beginning to remove her shirt.

As soon as he realized what she was doing he turned away and stared at the wall. She noticed and felt her lips stretch again into a humorless, angry smile of her own. Aye, what a tough man, she thought, to be so terrified of the sight of tits.

Once she had changed out of her sweaty clothes and stowed them in her pack, the Hound finally turned to face her once more, "You Wildlings have not a shred of decorum, do you? Give me some fucking warning next time."

"Oh, fuck off," she said, throwing one of his own favorite phrases back at him as she turned to face him as well. "I'll not be lectured about propriety by a man like you. Just because you're used to all these highborn cows with sticks jammed up their twats doesn't mean there's something wrong with me."

Sandor's dark eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in that sour look again, "You know what? You're right. You never know when to shut up."

Elsebeth shook her head and looked away, "Don't worry, I'm through talking to you anyway. Good night, Hound."

She walked over to the little bed and climbed onto it, rolling herself up in the blanket and moving over to the edge as far as she was able. She heard the Hound muttering and cursing to himself as he stripped out of his armor but she did not move to help him. Let him struggle with it. She was through helping him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and the Hound play a game.

~Fourteen~

Elsebeth and Sandor made camp the next afternoon in an apple orchard. They'd spoken even less on that day than the ones before it, both of them still angry at each other for different reasons. She went hunting and brought back several ducks for their supper. As she plucked and cleaned the meat, she watched Sandor prepare cups for their wine.

"Is that the only thing you like to do?" she asked him, her face sweaty and flushed.

Gods but it was warm here. She had shed every extra piece of clothing she could without being naked; even rolled her pants up as high as they would go and tied her shirt up around her waist but she was still sweating. She didn't know how these southerners could stand it.

The Hound looked around at her, "What?"

"Drink, drink, drink," she said, shoving a long skinny branch through the cleaned carcass of the first duck. "All you do is drink."

He scoffed and looked away again, "I like to kill things, too. Haven't done much of that lately so I drink instead."

Elsebeth laughed humorlessly and began spitting the next duck. "You're as grim and boring a man as I've ever known," she told him, fed up with his surliness. "I don't know how you live with yourself."

Sandor only grunted and, of course, began drinking wine.

Once she was done placing the ducks over the fire she turned to him and said, "Remember to turn them once in a while so they don't burn." Then she walked away from the camp and through the trees, putting as much distance between them as fast as she possibly could before she lost her temper with him.

"Where are you going?" He called after her.

Elsebeth raised a hand and waved dismissively at him, not bothering to look back over her shoulder, "Don't worry about it."

She went to the creek where she'd brought down the ducks earlier and stripped bare. All around her there were thick apple trees and she could hear many birds singing above her in their branches. The sun was still shining strong even though it was beginning its slow descent into the west already. This was a nice spot, she decided. The birds were better company than Sandor and a bath would make her feel better even if she didn't have any soap to wash with. 

Elsebeth stepped into the creek and felt smooth pebbles and mud squish under her toes. The water only came up to her waist even in the deepest part but it was cool and soothing on her sweaty skin. She found a large flat rock and sat, letting the water rise up to her collarbones. Elsebeth dunked her head under a few times and wet her hair, attempting to comb some of the tangles out with her fingers. It wasn't easy but she'd managed to get half of it done when she thought she heard something moving behind the trees off to her left. She started a little and turned her head that way; her hands still caught in the tangles of her long brown hair.

"Sandor?" she called out in the sudden quiet, the birdsong now absent. "Is that you?"

There was no response and she shrugged, deciding that it didn't matter. Even if it was him he'd run away as soon as he saw what she was doing. He'd just go sit back down and drink and curse to himself. As long as he remembered to turn the ducks once in a while, she need not worry about the Hound.

When she saw him emerge from the trees moments later with his clothes bundled under one arm and his free hand covering his cock she had to smother a shocked laugh. He saw her expression, however, and a dark blush rose on his hairy cheeks, "What? I'll leave."

"No," she said, looking him in the eyes and being careful not to let her gaze drift any further down. "Is that soap you have in your other hand? I'd be pretty mad at you if you didn't offer to share that with me."

He grumbled a low curse and came forward, dropping his clothes next to hers and stepping into the creek. He held a bar of yellow cake soap in one hand and still tried to cover himself with the other. When he slipped on the rocks a little she giggled and he heard, causing his blush to deepen further. 

"Shut up," he said, trying to sound menacing even as he continued to turn a darker shade of crimson. "If you keep laughing at me I won't share my soap."

Elsebeth bit her lip in an effort to control herself and said, "Sorry, sorry. I'll stop."

She was surprised even further when he came over to her and sat on the same large rock; not close enough to touch but close enough that they could see one another underneath the cool, clear water. He dunked his shaggy head under the water a few times and then tossed the soap at her, "Here. Doubt you'll want to use it after me."

She caught the soap and shrugged, keeping quiet. She stood from the creek and began washing herself, first her body and then her hair. She didn't look at the Hound as she did so but she could feel him watching her anyway. When she turned around and tossed the soap back at him he looked panicked for a moment and hurriedly looked away; the soap bouncing off of his chest and then sinking down into his lap. Elsebeth followed the trail of suds with her eyes and then she saw what else was in his lap. She hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand to suppress another giggle. He could pretend all he wanted to that he hadn't been watching but his cock stood up stiff and straight beneath the water like an exclamation mark.

She shook her head at him and dunked herself again, rinsing away the suds and working on untangling her hair again. She noticed that he made no move to stand and asked, "Aren't you going to bathe now?"

He glanced over at her and then quickly away again. She noticed his left hand drift over slowly to cover his erection and couldn't help the smile that curved her mouth. "In...in a minute," he answered, swallowing thickly.

She rolled her eyes and said, "It's all right, you know. You don't need to be ashamed of it. So your little man got stiff watching me bathe, so what? I don't care. You should use that soap before the water eats it up and there's nothing left of it."

Something in the Hound's eyes seemed to flicker and he dragged them away from whatever he was staring at to meet her gaze. "I wasn't watching you," he said, his tone flat and unconvincing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Now it was her turn to scoff at him. "You're a terrible liar," she said and suddenly pointed at the erection he was trying so hard to hide. "Besides, do you think me blind? I see the truth right there under your hand!"

His eyes widened in shock and he shifted away; turning his hips from her and trying harder than ever to conceal it, using both of his big hands now. "No," he said, his voice thick and stranger sounding than she had ever heard before. "You don't see shit. Shut up."

"Gods save us all," she said, squeezing the water out of her hair in a long coil. "You're just as bad as a little boy, aren't you? Why are you so afraid of it? It's natural, Sandor."

"Shut up," he repeated, sounding furious as well as embarrassed. "Stop talking."

"What a ridiculous man you are," she said, laughing now, unable to stop herself even though she could see his face pinching into an angry look; the red that creeped slowly across his face so dark that it looked like blood. "You'd think you'd never even touched a woman before, you're so scared of it."

"I said SHUT UP!" He roared and released himself to shove a wall of water over her with both of his huge hands.

She was doused beneath the wave and came up sputtering; wiping water out of her eyes with one hand. "You son of a bitch!" She cried out, laughing and splashing him as well.

He shoved more water at her and she rose to leap through the swell toward him; grabbing the top of his head and dunking him under. She felt his hands grab her hips and shove her back hard. He came up gasping for air, clearly surprised. She brayed more laughter as he roared again and stood suddenly, his huge hands grabbing at the air for her. She hurriedly backed away from his clumsy charge, dancing over the mud and rocks and staying just out of his reach.

"Come here!" He shouted, lurching forward on unsteady ground and shaking wet hair out of his eyes like a dog. "I'm going to hold you under until the bubbles stop!"

"Fuck you!" She said, laughing so hard at the sight of his wagging cock that she almost couldn't catch her breath. "Get away from me!"

She slipped on a particularly smooth rock and then his hands were catching her and forcing her head under water. He held her there for only a moment before releasing her and she stood up coughing but laughing once again. "You asshole," she said, slapping at his scarred, hairy chest and stepping back to flick the water out of her eyes. He raised his hands as if to grab her again and she shrieked, "Enough! I yield!"

Sandor stood there panting next to her, a strange half-smile on the unmarked side of his face, "Fine. But...I wasn't watching you."

Elsebeth snorted in disbelief and said, "Aye. As you say, Hound."

She walked away from him and found the soap, what was left of it, lying against the big rock at the bottom of the creek bed. She wiped the slimy mud from it with one hand and came back over to him, placing it into his waiting hand, "Here, wash yourself. You stink."

Then she made her way out of the creek and began to grab up her clothes from where they lay beneath his on the grass. She could feel his eyes on her but she just slipped her shoes on and walked back toward the camp as naked as ever. He could deny it all he wanted to but he liked what he saw and she wouldn't deny that it pleased her in some way. She had to admit that it was kind of fun to torture him.

***

Sandor came back to camp a bit later fully dressed and smelling much better than he had in all the time she'd known him. They ate their meal and drank wine and he seemed more at ease than he had been in days. She was glad. She'd play with him in a creek every day if it got him loosened up a little.

As the sun slipped behind the horizon and she watched Sandor drink from his cup, she had an idea, "Let's play a game."

Sandor looked over at her and lifted his one eyebrow at her in a curious look, "What game would that be?"

"You'll like it," she told him. "It's a drinking game."

He grunted in his sour way but he continued to look at her, clearly interested, "What kind of drinking game? I know several."

"It's called 'Telling Truths'," she said. "Have you played that one?"

He thought a moment and then shook his head, "I don't think so."

"It's easy. Mance taught it to some of us and we played it all the time," she told him. "I say something that I think is true about you and if I'm right you have to take a drink. If I'm wrong I have to drink. Then you get to try the same on me. Sound good?"

His face darkened a little at that, "I don't want to play that game with you."

Elsebeth felt her smile falter just a tiny bit but she tried to remain hopeful that she could convince him. "Come on," she said. "Don't be that way. It doesn't have to be as serious as you think. It'll be fun."

"No," he said, not looking at her now.

"Sandor, please?" she asked, holding her hands together in supplication. "Just for a little while? You can go first."

His dark eyes flicked over at her and his voice was low and clearly annoyed but he said, "All right, Wildling. You won't lie and I won't either. Right?"

Her smile sprang forth with renewed vigor and she nodded, "Aye. That's the way the game works. It's no fun if you lie." She swept a lock of hair out of her eyes and said, "Go ahead. Give it your best shot."

"Let me think for a second," he said, holding up one thick finger. He seemed to be picking and choosing through several questions in his head before saying, "You're an evil shit who's doing this just to bother me."

Elsebeth shook her head, "No. I'm doing it because I like to have fun. You have to take a drink now." She watched the shadows play over his face as he did so and then said, "You were watching me back at the creek earlier."

His eyes narrowed on hers and he growled but he lifted his cup to his mouth and drank again. She laughed and threw her head back, delighted.

"I knew you were evil," he grumbled, unsmiling. "My turn." He stared at her a long time before saying, "You wanted to travel with me because you were scared to be alone."

Elsebeth smiled and took a quick drink before she replied, "To be fair, I was right to be scared. I don't know how to pass as one of you southerners. Without you to frighten everyone off someone would've figured out where I came from by now. Who knows what might've happened?"

Sandor finally smiled a little bit, pleased by her answer, "So you need me, then? I thought you were too proud to admit that, Wildling."

"Shhhh," she admonished. "It's my turn." She fell silent and thought for a moment. "You only helped me with Wrath and the others because you were hungry and desperate." When he didn't drink, she asked, "No? Why else?"

He raised a finger and shook it back and forth, "No. You only get one question at a time, remember? Drink." He sucked his lip through his teeth as he watched her drink. Then, his face set in a measuring expression, he finally released it and said, "You weren't asleep that night after the fire. Not at first."

She looked away from him, startled; remembering that night when she'd felt his hand touch her in that hesitant, halting way. The night she'd thought he meant to rape her. True to her word, she lifted her cup and drank, still unable to meet his eyes with her own. She saw his body stiffen with obvious surprise out of the corner of her eye and set her cup back down; her belly full of that nervous feeling again.

She could feel how hard he was staring at her now, it's weight on her shoulders like it was a physical thing, "Why did you pretend to be asleep?"

She shook her head and said, "No, it's my turn." She still didn't look at him as she whispered, "You only stopped yourself from doing what you wanted that night because you're afraid of me. You thought I'd cut you just like I did the other one."

He didn't lift his cup. "You could've tried but...no, that's not why. Drink." She did so and he took a deep breath before saying, "And you didn't try to stop me because...uh...y-you didn't want me to stop?"

Elsebeth's hand shook minutely as she lifted her cup and drank deeply. Finally her eyes met his and there was an odd shine in them, some emotion she hadn't seen so clearly in his eyes before this moment. Was it really lust she saw or just more anger? She couldn't be certain. Unnerved and unthinking, she blurted, "You're a virgin. You've never been with a woman before."

He gripped his cup tightly and began to raise it but only for a moment. Rather than drink from it, he tipped it to one side and let the wine pour out onto the grass. "I don't want to play this game anymore," he growled at her, throwing his cup aside and getting to his feet. "I'm going to bed."

"That's not fair," she said, shaking her head and standing as well. "You said you wanted to play the game. You have to play. You have to tell the truth."

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as he snapped at her, "Shit on that. I don't have to play your stupid fucking kids game."

She reached out for his arm and caught it with one hand, stopping him as he tried to turn away, "Sandor..."

His eyes were narrow slits and his teeth were still pulled back like he wanted to bite her as he turned to look at her again. "You're the only person who calls me that," he said, grabbing her wrist in his big hand without warning and squeezing hard enough to hurt. "Do you know why? It's because you don't know what I am. If you knew you'd call me dog or monster just like everyone else does. You'd run off as fast as that mare's legs would carry you."

"No, I wouldn't," she disagreed, her heart pounding in her ears, her voice shaking. "Because you're wrong. You're not a monster. You helped me, didn't you? You helped me even though it would've been easier to steal what was left of our food while no one was looking and leave me to my fate."

His sneer began to tremble and falter and he seemed uncertain as he continued to look down into her eyes, "You don't know me. You don't know all that I've done."

"You're not a bad man, Sandor. I don't care what you look like and I don't care what you did before you met me," she told him, feeling his hand squeezing down harder and harder on her wrist and not caring about that either. "I wouldn't have stuck by you all this time if I thought you were as awful as you pretend to be."

"I thought about it," he told her suddenly, his eyes wild and full of that mean pleasure again. "Did you know that? That night after the fire I thought about doing the same thing to you as those men you were with. You couldn't have stopped me even if you'd tried. It would've been so easy for me."

She swallowed past some blockage in her throat and slowly nodded, "I know."

"You want the truth? Fine. I should've done it," the Hound whispered, his lips stretching into that angry smile again; his mouth trembling a little at the corners. "I should've held you down and fucked you as hard as I wanted to. You wouldn't have liked it, no matter what you think...I could've made sure you didn't. Then you wouldn't be so quick to tease me, would you, Wildling? No...not after I left you bloody and crying the first time."

Elsebeth's face registered her shock but she didn't know how to respond to this furious confession. When she said nothing he pulled away from her with a final growl and went to lay down far from the soft glow of the fire. She watched him as he stretched out and pulled his cloak over him like a blanket; facing away from her and grumbling angrily under his breath.

Elsebeth only went to sit by the fire and pour herself more wine, thinking that Sandor was right after all. Telling Truths was a stupid game.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and the Hound come to a bit of a turning point.

~Fifteen~

Sandor approached Elsebeth the next morning as they were getting ready to leave. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye and her shoulders stiffened in apprehension as his shadow fell over her; blocking out the sun entirely. His presence, so close that she could reach out and touch him, made her feel truly cold for the first time since leaving the north.

"I wanted to speak with you," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "If you'll allow me to."

She didn't look up at him but continued to watch him carefully beneath her lashes as she tied her pack onto the back of her horse. "Speak then," she said, her tone flat and lifeless. "Best be quick about it. I'm getting on my horse in a moment."

"I... I'm not ready to leave yet," he said, sounding surprised.

"That's probably for the best," she replied. "I'll be going soon, though. I wish you luck on your own journey, Hound."

"You're going on alone? Really?"

"You need not worry yourself," she said, clenching her jaw at his disbelieving tone.

"What are you planning to do alone?" He asked. "You have no money. Even here it's dangerous for a woman on her own."

"I'll make my way somehow," she told him, indifferent to his obvious concern. "I'll continue south as far as I can. Whatever happens after that...I can't say."

"No, just...listen to me. You don't have to do that," he told her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looked down at her. "Stay with me. I can help watch your back a little longer."

"Such generosity," she said, lifting an eyebrow in surprise yet still unable to bring herself to look at him. "But who's going to watch my back around you, Hound? You're not to be trusted, if I remember correctly."

She could feel his frown even though she could not see it, "Don't be so fucking dramatic. You're not in any danger around me...not really."

"Oh?" she said, laying her hands on the saddle and keeping her eyes glued to the same spot as before; fighting to keep her voice even. "That's not what you told me last night."

"Look, I know what I said last night," Sandor admitted. "I drank too much and I...I shouldn't have said those things to you. It wasn't true. I may have had...thoughts but I have no wish to hurt you. Not then and not now."

"Maybe," she said, unwilling to offer more. She wanted to believe him but she couldn't forget his eyes last night. The hot, furious look that reminded her he was a stranger to her and that the unknown could be deadly if you weren't careful.

"I wouldn't do that. Not even if I was drunk or angry with you," he told her, sounding uncomfortable with the whole conversation. He was a man who did not make apologies often, apparently. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"You didn't," she said, though that wasn't entirely true. Even now he still frightened her; he was one of the few men who ever really had. "You made me question whether or not I can trust you. If I can't then there's no reason to stay with you any longer."

"You can trust me," he said, no longer sounding uncomfortable, only speaking in earnest. "No matter what I said before...I'm not a thief. I wouldn't take what isn't freely given to me. Not when there's a better choice."

Elsebeth finally looked up at him to see that his jaw was set stubbornly but his eyes were steady on hers, unblinking. She was surprised to find that she did believe him. It wasn't just his words now, his actions had spoken the same. If he'd truly wanted to hurt her he could have but he didn't. And he had never struck her as a man who did the opposite of what he thought he should.

"Aye, Hound," she said, giving him a curt nod. "As you say. Let's get moving, then. The sun won't stay in the sky forever."

She saw the beginning of a smile on his scarred face as he turned away and thought to herself, Such a fool I am. He's a dog, all right. A dog that's apt to bite anyone who gets too close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter here, sorry. I have a feeling the next one is going to be much longer.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth finds herself in a bad situation when she leaves the Hound's side for a bit.

~Sixteen~

Around midday they came upon a little village full of cobblestone houses and a busy market street. Sandor took their horses to a tiny stable and then went to buy supplies, telling her, "Don't wander too far. I'll be back soon."

She waved a hand at him, not looking up from the rosebush she was inspecting just outside the door. He wasn't back quickly, however, and eventually she found herself wandering pretty far despite his advice. There were so many things to look at and, even though she had no money of her own, she wanted to see everything there was to see before they left this place behind and continued on the road south. People here seemed friendly and readily showed their goods even though she looked much rougher than the other ladies in her stained and rumpled clothes. Even when she did not buy a single thing they still waved and wished her good fortune. 

She wandered farther and farther through the market and eventually came to a large inn with a number of men and women sitting outside drinking and laughing. She saw that the women were all dressed in revealing ways with many bare breasts and bottoms and thighs exposed. These must be more of the 'whores' Sandor held such disdain for and this must be a 'whorehouse' and not an inn after all. Realizing she had wandered too far, Elsebeth smiled at one of the girls sitting on a man's lap. She smiled back and raised her cup of ale in greeting. Elsebeth didn't spare a glance at the men even though she could sense them watching her closely.

She began to turn on her heel to head back the way she'd come when she heard a shrill scream. She stopped, looking back, and saw a girl come running out of the inn's front door; holding her skirts up over her knees and crying. Her dress was torn at the bodice, exposing tiny breasts no bigger than apples, and there was a great amount of blood running freely from her crooked nose. She flew down the steps right toward Elsebeth and then a man came bursting out of the doors as well.

The girl with the bloody nose, who looked to be no older than fifteen namedays at most, ducked behind Elsebeth and cowered; her small hands clutching desperately at the back of her shirt. "Help me!" she cried, her voice shaking and utterly terrified. "Please! He means to kill me!"

The big man came down the steps and his bloodshot eyes met Elsebeth's, zeroing in on her as he realized that the girl he was looking for was hiding behind her broad back. He pointed one sausage-like finger at her and commanded, "Stand aside, woman! By the gods, this whore WILL get what's coming to her!"

Elsebeth watched him come, a thick man with a bushy black beard and two gaps in his grimace that revealed missing teeth. He looked dirty and dishevelled, his leathers stained and stinking of sour sweat, his nose and cheeks red from too much drink. She let her right hand drift slowly to her belt, still waiting patiently for him to approach as the laughter from the front of the inn died away and everyone turned to watch.

"Stand aside!" the bearded man barked at her again when he realized that she hadn't budged. "Unless you want some of what she's going to get you'd better move, cunt!"

He came within striking distance and reached for Elsebeth, probably meaning to shove her aside, but she ducked under his clumsy thrust and brought her hand away from her belt so quickly that the others watching only saw a blur. With the edge of her blade laid along the pulsing vein on the left side of his neck, she asked, "What did you call me?"

The girl behind her gasped in shock and stepped away from Elsebeth as she realized what was going on. Then, seeing her chance, she took off running; sobbing and pushing her way through a gathering crowd of onlookers who'd come to see what all the commotion was about.

The man's eyes were trapped by Elsebeth's; wide and unblinking. She could see fear in them and it made her glad. She had no idea if he was justified in his fury but she decided that she really didn't care either way. The girl had been bleeding from an obviously broken nose and she'd been terrified of this disgusting man who was twice her age and size. Elsebeth's need to protect the younger girl was automatic, no matter who was in the right or wrong here.

"I'll not stand for this!" He squawked, his eyes rolling madly as sweat beaded his forehead. "That girl stole from me!"

"I don't care what she did," Elsebeth whispered, smiling in a way that never touched her chilly blue eyes. "You busted her face. I'd say she's already paid for it." 

"This - this is ridiculous!" he sputtered, trying desperately to hold on to his anger; his eyes still jumping around as if looking for someone to help him. "Release me, woman!"

Elsebeth let the blade nick him just a little, certainly no worse than what he would've received shaving, and he whimpered like a scared child; visibly shaking. "Call me 'woman' again," she said, still smiling even in the face of his stench. "I dare you."

The man whimpered again and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes before someone called out, "Lookit Druber! He's gone and pissed hisself!"

The people gathered around began to laugh and Elsebeth bent her head to look down. A large wet stain was spreading at the bearded man's crotch and she saw a yellow stream pouring out under the cuff of his pants leg; running over his battered and dirty shoe. She looked back up at him again and saw that his face was as red as blood with embarrassment. He'd pissed his pants and now everyone was laughing at him. Serves him right, she thought.

"Aw," she said, pushing out her lower lip in false pity. "Couldn't hold it?"

The laughter swelled even louder around her and then, without warning, someone's hand cruelly gripped her shoulder and yanked her away from the bearded fool. It was another man, skinny, young and tall; probably a friend of the cowardly pants-pisser. Her blade cut the first man as her arm slid away and he fell to the dirt, screaming 'I been killed oh! I been killed!' as he clapped one hand to the shallow wound.

Elsebeth paid no attention to the first man, keeping her gaze on the second one as he raised a hand to strike her, and hurriedly snatched another knife from her belt. Snarling like a wild animal, she swung the knife in a vicious underhanded blow and plunged it into his unprotected belly. The laughter of the crowd cut off just as quickly as it had begun and now people were screaming as she ran her blade swiftly up to his breastbone; disemboweling him before he could even swing his hand down at her. He let out a choked cry and grabbed at the loops of his intestines as they spilled from the massive cut; his knees buckling as he died in agony. Elsebeth ripped her blade out of him with a grunt and turned to flee with the others when something incredibly hard struck the back of her head. She stumbled, nearly falling, and white stars flashed across her vision as she fought to stay upright.

Elsebeth shook her head in an effort to clear it and spun around again to face her attacker. She saw yet another man, this one stocky, ugly and blonde, standing amid the scattering crowd; his eyes burning with self-righteous anger. He was pulling a long sword from his own belt and she was trying to fight against the dizziness and raise her blades. She was moving too slowly, however, and she knew that he would cut her before she could defend against it. She tried to prepare herself for the pain and hoped that it wouldn't be a killing blow.

Suddenly an animal-like roar swelled above the screams surrounding them and she heard the brutal parting of air as a heavy blade came out of nowhere and slashed through the stocky man's neck. Hot blood splashed across her face as his head flew from his shoulders like magic; his face still caught in a look of surprise as it spun off to her left and hit the dirt rolling. She looked to her right again and saw a bloodied Sandor standing there; sword in hand, lips peeled back from his teeth in rage.

She felt his free hand snatch her forearm in a crushing grip and then he shouted down into her face, "Time to go!"

They raced for the stables together and the boy there was cowering in a corner as they arrived covered in blood and panting. Sandor freed their horses and boosted her up onto her mare, slapping the horse's rear to get it moving. She raced away from the village proper and soon Stranger was bringing Sandor alongside her, matching the mare's stride with his own powerful legs. 

As they left the village in the dust, Sandor growled at her, "Damn it, Wildling! You're going to be the death of me!"

Elsebeth only laughed at this and urged the mare to go even faster. She was suddenly very happy that she had stayed with the Hound and silently thanked the gods for his existence. If not for his timely arrival she'd likely be bleeding out her last moments in the dirt alongside the woman-beating shit she'd stood against.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit more complicated between Elsebeth and the Hound.

~Seventeen~

"Ow!"

"Quit whinging," the Hound scolded, dabbing more medicine on her wound with the blunt tip of one finger. "You're lucky your brains aren't drying on the ground outside of a whorehouse right now." He gave a heavy sigh and said, "That was a big fucking rock he hit you with."

"It sure felt like a big one," she said, wincing again as he grazed the cut running down the center of her raised flesh. The huge knot on the back of her head was throbbing painfully and the medicine he put on it was making the cut back there sting like mad, but better a little stinging now than trying to deal with an infection later.

"Don't know why you'd almost get yourself killed over nothing," he grumbled, his tone one of disapproval. "You should've kept walking and stayed the fuck out of it. If you had you wouldn't have a headache right now."

"Stay out of it, you say. Well, I say that you weren't there in the beginning of it all. You didn't see that poor girl," Elsebeth returned defensively. "She was hurt and in need of someone's help. No one else stepped forward so I did what I had to." She paused, frowning for a moment, and added, "I don't think you could've walked away either, Sandor. Not if you'd seen her."

"She was just a whore," Sandor grumbled at her, clearly irritated with her stubbornness. "You could've died and for what? Ten of them aren't worth one of you...not even if you are crazy."

Elsebeth turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, sudden wild-hot fury burning within the ocean blue of her irises, "I don't give a shit what she was, Hound. You're wrong for thinking that way. Her life has just as much value as yours or mine."

He unflinchingly held her angry look with one of his own, her long hair still gripped loosely in one of his huge hands, "No, YOU'RE wrong." When she only stared back at him, he looked away and she thought she saw his expression soften a bit as he continued, "I guess I can't expect you to understand, can I? You don't know anything about this world."

She turned back around to face forward again and said, "I know enough."

"Fine. Let's forget for a moment that she was a whore," Sandor said. "What about thieves? Would you have just shrugged and wished her good fortune after she lifted your purse? Don't thieves deserve to be punished?"

"I don't know if she was really a thief, that's only what that man claimed," she told him, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth when he accidentally tapped her throbbing flesh too hard again. "For all I know he might've gotten mad because she made the mistake of laughing at the tiny worm between his legs when he pulled his pants down."

Sandor grunted in his usual sour way and countered, "Or...could be she stole something from him."

Elsebeth let out a disgusted sigh and said, "Either way, she was only a little thing and I did what I thought was right at the time. I always try to do what I think is right."

"Sometimes doing what's 'right' will get you killed," he said, his voice bitter sounding as if he were speaking from experience. "Then you'll have all the time in the world to feel vindicated while you're rotting in a hole in the ground."

"If you want me to apologize for helping her, I won't," she said, her hands massaging her temples. All this back and forth wasn't helping her headache in the least. "And if I die doing what I think is right then I'll consider it a good death. No one lives forever, Hound."

Sandor finally released the heavy sheaf of her hair and let it fall back in place, covering the swollen purple knot about the size of an egg that had risen on the thickest part of her skull. "Fine. Just try to keep your heroism to a minimum," he told her, sounding as if he were ready to agree to disagree at last. "If you go around trying to save every whore in trouble we'll never get the fuck out of Westeros."

He moved back a step and Elsebeth turned to look at him as he wiped his hand on a rag; her irritation at his lecture slowly evaporating. She suspected that, in his own abrasive way, he actually meant well. She couldn't have continued to be angry at him even if she'd wanted to.

His usual scowl deepened when he realized that she was still standing there staring at him, "What?"

"I feel that a thank you is due," she said, speaking plainly, her face solemn. "You saved my life. If you hadn't shown up when you did I'd likely not be here to argue with you."

He quickly looked away from her eyes and shrugged one shoulder, stuffing the rag in his pocket and clearly feeling uncomfortable. "It was nothing," he said, giving a nod. "Anytime."

Suddenly, acting on impulse, she stepped toward him and stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his unshaven cheek. He turned his head a bit, startled by her unexpected closeness, and her kiss landed a little further left than she had intended; near the corner of his mouth. She saw him stiffen and heard his sharp intake of air as he realized what she'd just done and she stepped back again to gauge his expression.

Sandor's face at that moment was priceless; the wide circles of his brown eyes, his one eyebrow arched in surprise, his mouth hanging ajar. She watched him carefully as he shook his head a little and cleared his throat before asking, "Why did you do that?"

Now it was Elsebeth's turn to shrug; feeling more than a little foolish for behaving so rashly. "I don't know," she replied, giving him an uncertain half-smile. "I wanted to."

Sandor stared at her for a long moment as if he wasn't entirely sure of where he was or what was happening and then blinked rapidly several times. His voice was still soft and there was no trace of reproach left in it as he said, "I - I need to uh..."

Then he was turning away without even finishing his sentence. Elsebeth's head was still pounding but now she hardly felt it; all of her attention focused on Sandor Clegane as he walked off in a hurry. She felt a stirring in her middle as she watched him go to Stranger and dig in his saddlebag again. She hadn't meant to kiss him but it hadnt really been as big of a shock to her as it seemed to be to him. If she was going to be honest with herself, she'd thought of doing something similar a few times before. That and more. Even when they'd been at each other's throats that unexpected desire had still been there. That it had endured all this time spoke to how strong it really was. 

Feeling heat rise in her own cheeks, Elsebeth turned away and went to gather firewood. It would be dark soon and they would need a way to cook their supper. Stuffing her feelings aside yet again, she pushed herself to think only of the task at hand and nothing more.

***

Elsebeth could clearly see how uncomfortable Sandor still was as he sat stiffly next to her; his wine forgotten by one huge hand. Every time he looked at her now she could see the wariness in his gaze; the wild look that bordered on something close to fear. After their bellies were full they sat quite a ways back from the fire; blocked from the wind by a shelf of rock on one side. There was no moon that night but the sky was full of stars above. The grove of trees at their backs were full of the night noises of small animals; hooting owls, scurrying rodents, the occasional cry of a bird. 

It would've been such a nice night if she hadnt been so reckless as to kiss him. She would've been fine with it but he obviously wasn't and the effect it had had on Sandor was disconcerting. She hadn't wanted it to change anything between them and somehow it seemed to have changed everything. It had set them back to a place where neither one of them felt comfortable and it was all so very stupid because, despite her feelings about this odd man, the kiss itself had been innocent enough at the time.

Finally she couldn't stand his silence any longer and said, "I'm sorry I kissed you, Sandor. I shouldn't have done that."

He looked around at her, startled, and nearly tipped his drink over as he gripped his big knees in his hands, "What?"

Elsebeth swallowed and felt her heart begin to beat funny in her chest. Here she was again, making things awkward; making things uncomfortable for both of them. Why couldn't she just keep her fucking mouth shut for once? Maybe Sandor was right. Maybe she was crazy and foolish.

"I didn't really mean to," she cleared her throat and took a sip of wine, feeling him watching her the whole time. "I mean, I didn't want to upset you. I'm sorry."

Sandor's knuckles were white from the merciless hold he had on his knees. He shifted uncomfortably and his voice sounded strange again as he said, "Don't be. It's not...I didn't expect it, that's all."

"Oh," she said, meeting his eyes with her own and feeling moderately better. Maybe it was something they could get past after all.

Silence fell between them and they watched the fire for a long time. The Hound shifted again and finally drank some wine. Then he surprised her with a low chuckle and said, "I came up just in time to see it when you made him piss himself, you know. That was pretty fucking funny."

Elsebeth smiled a little more broadly and said, "Aye, I suppose it was."

Sandor drank some more wine and little by little she could see him slowly begin to relax. "When blondie freed his sword I almost didn't get to him in time," he told her, his eyes never leaving the flames before them. "As soon as he picked up the rock I went for him but a lot of people were pushing past me, trying to go the other way. I nearly cut through them all...I would've if they'd made me." 

Elsebeth turned to look at him, "Thank you again. Really. I'm only sitting here because of you."

She saw his cheeks flush with color but she didn't know if it was her words or the wine that caused it. "I told you," he said, still not looking at her. "Anytime. You saved me a few times too, remember? You watch my back and I'll watch yours."

"Aye, as you say," she returned, lifting her own cup of wine at him. "You're a good man to fight beside, Sandor...for a southerner."

She heard him chuckle to himself a little as she drank her wine and he said, "And you're as good as any man I've ever known on the battlefield, even if you are a woman."

Now it was her turn to laugh and then the silence between them was as comfortable as it ever got; the kiss mostly forgotten. When Elsebeth went to sleep an hour later, however, she did so curled up on her pallet of furs and listening to Sandor sharpen his sword again; thinking of how warm his lips had been against hers for the brief moment they'd touched. The thought followed her down into the realm of slumber and she dreamed of him; of doing things of a far more daring nature than one innocent peck on the corner of his mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and the Hound find themselves trapped in a storm.

~Eighteen~

Elsebeth wiped water out of her eyes and blinked several times in an effort to clear them. She couldn't see shit out here. It wasn't just raining now, it was pouring; the forest only a shifting blur of green and brown before her. She was getting soaked to the bone and was just beginning to think that she should get back to Sandor when a bolt of lightning struck in front of her; hitting a huge tree less than eighty paces from where she stood. She could feel the force of the lightning strike in her teeth and bones as it hit and she jumped, crying out involuntarily. Thunder blasted overhead less than a second later and she felt the ground shaking beneath her feet as the crooked, purple afterimage of the lightning bolt striking the tree was left imprinted in her wide blue eyes; temporarily blinding her.

She ran from the now twisted, blackened and smoking tree in atavistic terror; feeling the power of the storm in the air all around her and praying to the gods that she wouldn't be struck down next. Her thick cloak flew out behind her as she ran, her feet stomping through puddles and dripping underbrush, heedless of anything other than her panicked need to flee. When she returned to where she'd left Sandor she saw that he still kneeled under the natural overhanging shelf of rock, trying to start a fire with a small pile of wood. He saw her coming and quickly stood. 

As she finally reached cover, completely soaked and panting, Sandor immediately came for her, "For fuck's sake, woman! You're going to catch your death out here!"

Her teeth chattering, Elsebeth let him wrap a protective arm around her broad shoulders and lead her further under the rock shelf. The horses were hobbled off to one side and extremely skittish, their eyes rolling wildly with each crash of thunder and flash of lightning. The forest was dense and even though it was only mid-morning, the day was as dark as twilight. Thick black clouds obscured the tiny disc of the sun and the downpour was so heavy that nothing could be seen farther than twenty paces or so.

"I didn't find any wood that was dry," she told the Hound, shivering uncontrollably as he led her over to their packs lying against the natural rock wall.

"No shit?" he asked, affecting surprise.

She let out a shaky laugh, the clicking of her teeth making it stutter and sound strange, and then he was releasing her as she knelt for her pack. She dug through it and found her dry clothes, stripping immediately out of her dripping cloak, shirt and breeches. Sandor quickly turned away and began stretching out her furs on the ground for her.

As she dressed, she said, "I guess they don't call this place the Stormlands for nothing, huh?"

Sandor laughed his rusty laugh a few feet away and said, "Aye, it earned the name."

They'd traveled two more days after the night of the kiss and only last night had they reached this huge forest called Rainwood (another perfectly apt name). They'd spent a mostly peaceful night and awoken this morning ready to travel. They'd only ridden an hour before the storm started and they had to gallop for the nearest cover; this little sanctuary beneath a huge chunk of flat rock about fifty feet wide and twelve feet off of the ground. She'd left only for a moment to see if there was any dry wood to be found but the rain had quickly come down harder and harder; drenching her beneath an icy torrent in seconds.

Now with tight little goosebumps all over her chilled flesh beneath her dry clothes, she raced to her furs on bare feet and bundled up beneath them. She rubbed her hands together and sat on her feet in an effort to warm her toes. All around them the forest shook as rain pounded down, lightning crashing and thunder booming overhead periodically. She watched Sandor try again and again to light mostly wet twigs and stripped bark with a bit of flint and steel. He cursed bitterly as he struck them together again and again, producing sparks but no flame on the damp strips of tinder. He seemed determined to get a fire going no matter how hopeless it was.

After several minutes of watching this fruitless effort, Elsebeth said, "It's too wet, Hound. We'll have no fire tonight."

He muttered a curse under his breath and glanced over at her, "You'll get sick."

She lifted a shoulder and said, "If I do, I do. I've been sick before."

His lips disappeared in a scowl and he looked away, tucking the flint and steel into his pockets and standing. He went to where Stranger and Elsebeth's mare were hobbled next to each other and retrieved his furs from Stranger's back. He spent a few minutes trying to soothe the horses and then came over to where Elsebeth sat.

He bundled up in his own furs beside her and they ate cheese, nuts and stale bread, washing it down with water. After their bellies were sated, they sat next to each other watching the storm continue to rage all around them. The sky only grew darker as time went on and the storm showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

"How long will we have to travel before we reach the coast?" she asked him after a long beat of silence.

Sandor glanced at her and then back at the shivering trees beyond their tiny safe haven, "Today is a total loss so...I don't know. Six days? Maybe more?"

She sighed abjectly, "This is going to be fun."

Sandor snorted laughter through his nose, "At least we have some wine left. We'll drink ourselves stupid and wait for this shit to blow over. Hopefully by the time we wake up with headaches we'll be able to move again."

Elsebeth nodded and pulled her furs up higher around her. She watched him produce their cracked cups from his pack and pour them both a good knock of wine from the half-filled cask they had somehow managed to hang on to. She took the offered cup and drank, feeling it begin to warm her cheeks at the first sip, thanking him. They drank together for a long while, both of them quiet and at peace in their little shelter.

After her second cup of wine, she felt Sandor nudge her with his knee and he asked, "Are you cold? You're still shaking."

She looked to her left, meeting his eyes with her own, "Am I? I hadn't even noticed."

A dark look clouded his eyes and he said, "Fucking fire wouldn't light. I should try again."

He set his cup down and moved as if to stand but she stopped him with a soft touch on his knee, "Don't bother. It's still too wet." Meeting his gaze with her own, she said, "If you're really worried about it we can always bundle up together..."

He looked at her for a moment, clearly indecisive, and when he saw the paleness of her lips that seemed to decide him. He lifted his furs on the right side in offering and they huddled together, sharing body heat as the wind blew cold around them.

"Ahh," she sighed, feeling his arm slip around her shoulders. "That's better."

"Good," he grunted, not looking at her. "If you got sick that would slow us down even more. It's best to avoid it if we can."

"If I did get sick you...you wouldn't leave me behind?" she asked, her stomach beginning that weird fluttering again.

Sandor stiffened a little and still wouldn't look at her but he shook his head slowly at this, "No, I wouldn't." He paused a moment and then added, "I don't think you'd leave me, either."

She swallowed anxiously and said, "Never. We're a team, you and me."

She watched a slow smile spread across his scruffy face and her stomach did a huge flip inside of her. "Right," he agreed, nodding and clearing his throat but still unable to look at her. "I wasn't sure before but, aye, we're a team. We're in this together...for good or ill."

Elsebeth slowly reached across his middle and touched the hand that lay on his thigh furthest from her. She laced her fingers through his and his arm tightened around her shoulders in surprise. His fingers jerked in a helpless spasm for a moment and she thought he would pull his hand away but then it slowly softened ever so slightly, his fingers closing around hers.

She craned her neck to look up at him from beneath his huge arm and said, "I like you, Sandor. I wasn't sure of you, either. Not at first. You, well...I guess you grew on me. Like moss creeping across a tree."

She saw his cheeks darken with sudden color and felt the ache in her lower belly return, stronger than ever. When he finally turned to look at her, she felt her heart begin to beat light and fast in her throat and her breathing sped up until she felt light-headed. The burned side of his face was nearer to her, revealed in flashes of lightning as thunder rumbled around them; seeming to shake the entire world. Elsebeth slowly reached up with her free hand to touch his cruelly seared flesh and her fingers molded gently around the odd shapes of his scars; that strange expanse of skin where no hair would ever grow. It was like touching a broken rock that had been lying in the bottom of a river and had it's rough edges smoothed away by the force of moving water over the years. It was somehow bumpy and smooth at the same time, chilly from the current climate, but quickly warming beneath the soft touch of her hand.

She could feel his eyes on her, watching her carefully, but she couldn't meet them just yet. She was shaking again but it wasn't from the cold. A strange flush of emotions ran through her as she felt his breath wash over her face, demanding that she shake with the force of them. Like the trees surrounding them, she was helpless against the storm that now raged through her.

"You couldn't like an ugly fuck like me," he said, his voice low and uncertain. "No one ever has before."

She could barely find enough breath to use her voice again as she finally met his eyes with her own, "I've never cared much about what other people like, Sandor."

When she pressed her lips against his fully for the first time his eyes widened and she felt his hand squeeze down compulsively on hers. Then the arm around her shoulders pushed her forward gently and his eyes slipped closed. Elsebeth felt his lips attempt to kiss her back, warm and eager against hers, and her heart stopped for a second before stuttering and resuming it's frantic pace.

He broke the kiss after a moment and pulled back, his eyes now half-lidded as he looked into hers and breathed, "Uhhh...I shouldn't...I mean...I want to..."

She asked, "Then why don't you?"

Suddenly his hand released hers and gripped her waist, pulling her even closer. His mouth found hers again and she parted her lips for him. The kiss was clumsier than ever and he was totally inexperienced at it, but she responded to it passionately as she slid an arm around his neck to keep him close. Her free hand reached into his lap and found his cock below his armor, stiff and throbbing. He shuddered as her hand closed around it and he clutched her tighter, as if afraid she'd pull away from him.

She stroked him lightly and she felt his teeth nip her tongue as he tore his lips away from hers, panting and shuddering harder than ever. "You shouldn't," he said but he didn't attempt to pull away. If anything, he was holding her tighter than ever, crushing her to his chest.

"I want to," she said in a quiet voice. "And so do you. Right?"

He let out a breathless laugh and his eyes met hers again. The lust in them was unmistakable this time as he said, "Aye. More than you know."

She tugged gently at him, relaxing her body and leaning against his arm, "Then why don't we?"

He understood and then she was letting him lower her to the ground. He leaned over her and kissed her again, his tongue finding hers and claiming it hungrily. Already he was getting better at this...or maybe she was just liking it more. 

Either way, when his big fingers began fumbling for the tie in front of her breeches, she thought, Oh Gods, finally.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Ahem*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never tried to write anything like this before. Horror is actually more my speed... Hope it's not completely terrible.

~Nineteen~

Elsebeth felt Sandor's fingers brush the first soft curls of her pubic hair and jerked her head a little to the left, breaking their kiss. He drew back to look at her and she saw a look of confused panic in his dark brown eyes. He pulled his hand back as if he'd touched something too hot and asked, "What? What's wrong?"

She tried to regain control of her breathing and said, "It's... it's been a while, that's all. My nerves are all over the place."

"I thought I'd hurt you," he said, a frown creasing his brow.

"No, no, don't worry," she said, smiling faintly as she stared into his eyes. "I'm fine." She paused to chuckle lightly and then elaborated, "No, I'm better than fine. I've been wanting this, Sandor...much longer than I'd like to admit."

He gave her a slow smile and said, "Believe me, you're not the only one. Just looking at you turns my balls blue."

Elsebeth laughed faintly and reached up to pull him back down, sealing her lips to his again. He kissed her more deeply than before and she felt his hand slip under the waistband of her pants once more. His fingertips slid down and touched her, sending shockwaves of wanting through her middle as he began exploring more boldly than before. Moisture was exuding between the soft cleft of her lips and when he found it she felt his hand try to withdraw suddenly as if he were startled. She reached down and gently covered his hand with her much smaller one, guiding it slowly back to the place where desire coiled inside of her like tightly wound spring. He put up no resistance as she guided his first finger into her and he was the one to break their kiss this time; gasping at how easily it slipped inside her warmth.

"Oh," he said, his dark eyes full of that half-wild look as they met hers again.

"Oh," she agreed, breathless and smiling up at him. 

He slowly pushed his finger in deeper and she sighed in pleasure. His finger was thick and rough with callouses but it felt absolutely wonderful. She leaned her head back and let her eyes slip closed, the warmth spreading from her center and traveling through her arms and legs as he slowly slipped his finger out before gently pushing into her again. Elsebeth felt him lean down over her, placing his mouth to her throat and kissing along her carotid artery; his lips following the soft thread of her pulse.

"That feels lovely," she murmured, her head dizzy as her shallow, rapid breaths stirred the hair lying across his scars. "Oh my..."

She felt his lips curve against her neck in a smile and he made a deep humming noise, sending a delicious shiver up her back. She reached up and touched the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his long hair as he continued pleasing her with his gentle touch.

After a few endless, beautiful moments Sandor withdrew from her with a final kiss on her collarbone. She moaned softly as his hand departed and left her feeling empty; her belly aching with need so bad that it hurt. He began tugging urgently at the waistband of her breeches and she lifted up so that he could pull them down and slip them off of her legs. She began to bring them down again but he caught her ankles in his big hands and stopped her. He kissed one ankle and then the other, his brow creased in an expression that bordered on pain.

Elsebeth reached down for him and gripped the throbbing length of him in one hand, giving him a light squeeze as he trailed kisses further down her leg. He groaned as she suddenly freed his cock from his pants and she saw the head of it pushing toward her; tinged slightly red. She guided him forward and rubbed it along the glistening line between her legs.

"Fucking hell," he breathed, his words muffled by her calf muscle as he pressed his burning lips against it. "You're going to make me disappoint you if you keep doing that."

Elsebeth only smiled at him as the world around them flashed with light and thunder shook the ground beneath her, "No, never. You couldn't if you tried."

Then she guided him into her and he shuddered again as he slid in. She also shuddered and released him as he sank down on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged his hips forward until he filled her completely. They lay there without moving for a moment and she could feel him pulsing inside of her as her inner muscles gripped him and held him there.

She looked up at him and his eyes met hers, nearly closed and hazy with lust. She brushed long strands of hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear so that she could see him better. She stretched her neck forward and kissed the upper part of his right cheek, where his scruffy hair met the runnels of ruined flesh.

Sandor made an odd growling noise and brought his mouth down onto hers again. As their tongues danced around one another's he began thrusting hard; brutal strokes with no thought behind them, only need. She held on to his armored forearms for dear life, her breathing becoming shallower and shallower as he plunged in and out of her again and again and his mouth trapped hers with his clumsy, sweet kiss.

She could feel herself tightening around him as her desire surged forward to meet his, that warmth building and building until it felt like she'd swallowed a tiny sun that would burn right through her. His armor creaked as he continued his frantic pace and she reached up to lace her fingers around his neck, deepening their kiss. His huge hands slid up to grip her shoulders and push down as he pushed his hips forward; his cock sinking so far into her that it was borderline painful.

Elsebeth turned her head to one side, his lips only reluctantly leaving hers, and she gasped for air. Her head was spinning as he crushed her beneath his massive weight, his hips slamming into her over and over again. She could feel her release building up and up until it coursed through her, overwhelming her with sweet sensations she'd almost forgotten about entirely. She cried out weakly and stiffened with the force of it, sending him over the edge as well.

Sandor exploded inside her and he grunted her name as he came; his hot breath panting in her ear. He continued to thrust for a moment but then slowed and finally stopped. He was still trembling and trying to get his breathing under control when she gently touched his cheek and turned his head to face her again.

His eyes met hers and they were tired, barely there with her. She kissed him again briefly and whispered, "Thank you, Sandor. That was....better than I could've imagined, actually."

He huffed out a huge breath and smiled, "Aye. It was."

Then he was shakily climbing off of her and rolling off to one side. She lay there feeling his seed slowly dripping out of her and then felt his arm go around her shoulders again. She let him snake it under her back and turned to one side to drape an arm over his chest and her thigh over his right leg.

"This is not how I expected this day to turn out," he said, sounding as if he were speaking more to himself than her.

"Me either," she returned. "But I'm glad it did."

She felt his left hand come up to lace his fingers through her own and he said, "So am I."


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsebeth and The Hound reach the coast in the Stormlands.

~Twenty~

The next day Sandor seemed different. As soon as he woke she sensed some change in him; in the way he moved, the way he grunted but would not speak. He was careful to avoid looking her in the eyes and it made her wonder if she'd done something to upset him in some way. Though he did not speak much or make eye contact, Elsebeth could feel his eyes on her more than ever, always watching; his face an unreadable mask to her. He seemed to be brooding again and after a few failed attempts to get him to open up, she decided to leave him be and let him come to her.

But Sandor was a tough nut to crack, much as she expected. He didn't approach her and they didn't have much time to speak anyway as they rode through the immense forest of Rainwood for six more miserable, rainy days; both of them sodden and grumpy the entire time. They were both too exhausted to do much more than drag themselves to their furs each night after filling their bellies. When they finally reached the coast and came upon a place called Weeping Town, which sported a huge harbour and many merchant ships, Elsebeth forgot about how much the Hound's distancing himself from her was bothering her.

She marvelled at the busy harbour and the mass of people moving through it. She'd never seen so many people; sailors, fishermen, their families, traveling merchants dressed in garish outfits of many-colored silks and carrying shiny, curved swords. So many different people from different lands that Elsebeth felt as though she were in a dream. Certainly these colorful folk couldn't be real; they were too beautifully strange to be real. She tried not to gape at them in wonder like some savage but her eyes were drawn to them again and again; their clothes, their hair, even their skin colors were different. It was almost a relief when Sandor took her to a tavern called the Widow's Lament and she didn't have to be enthralled by them anymore.

He led her inside the packed tavern and took her to a table where there were two spots left unoccupied. He warned her to stay there and went over to one of the harried serving girls to order food and drink. Across from Elsebeth sat a man with skin so dark that his eyes stood out in his face like lamps on a moonless night; another beautiful person wearing many different colored silks and a curved sword. When he saw her looking at him he smiled and disclosed a set of blindingly white teeth with a few gold ones thrown in here and there.

"Good afternoon to you, miss," the dark man said, leaning forward as light gleamed from his smooth bald plate. He was adorned with gold on his fingers, wrists and ears; the heavy weight of the beaten gold hoops so great that they dragged his earlobes down past his jaw. "Excuse me for saying so but you look a little...out of place."

Elsebeth smiled a bit nervously, "Oh? Well...I'm not from here."

The man's smile grew, showing more gold, and he said, "Nor am I." He reached out one hand, "Inan Zharras." When Elsebeth only looked back at him with a puzzled expression, he clarified, "That's my name."

Her face brightened with understanding and she reached out to shake his hand with her own, "I'm Elsebeth."

Inan repeated her name as if tasting something new for the first time and released her hand, "So where are you from, Elsebeth of no-house-name?"

She looked around for Sandor and couldn't see him among the crowd. There were too many shifting bodies and the interior was too dark. "I, uh, come from far away," she told the man as she met his inky black eyes with her own again. "From the north."

"Ah," he said, smiling and winking at her. "So you are a Snow, then?"

This meant nothing to her. What was this exotic black and gold man going on about? She decided that it didn't matter. "Sure," she agreed, just to shut him up. "I'm a Snow."

Inan took a drink of his wine and sighed, "It is a hard life for a bastard, I think." He paused to blot his mouth with a silk napkin before tucking it back into his sleeve and looking over at her again. "Is it? Have you had a hard life, Elsebeth Snow?"

She searched the tavern interior with her eyes again for the Hound and still could not spot him. Where the fuck had he gone? Surely he hadn't abandoned her...had he? Maybe. She'd been fearing as much over the past several days as he'd completely ignored her.

"Aye," she answered, hardly paying attention to the man named Inan Zawhatsis as she searched for Sandor. "Hard enough, I suppose."

The dark man laughed, a deep and richly melodious sound, and she dragged her eyes back to him. "I can buy you a drink," he said, his smile wider than ever. "Would you like that, Elsebeth Snow?"

She swallowed past some thick blockage in her throat and she noticed that the men on either side of him were also watching her now. Both of them looked like Inan but much rougher; their dark skin scarred in many places while Inan's seemed smooth, their clothes coarse woven, drab and stained while his were pristine and vibrantly colored silks. She was starting to feel a little concerned by the dark man's interest. He had noticed her. People noticing her was a sure pathway to trouble. 

"No, that's all right," she told him, trying another smile before it fell flat. "I'm waiting for my friend."

Inan's smile never wavered, "The big man with the bad face? He doesn't look like anyone's friend to me."

Elsebeth frowned and felt a sweat break out on her brow. The man next to her jostled against her, spilling wine on her pants leg, irritating her enough to throw an elbow into his meaty ribs and shift him back over into his own place. "Aye," she told Inan, her brow creased more deeply than ever in consternation. "But looks can be deceiving."

The dark man threw his head back and laughed, the gold in his mouth flashing in the minimal torchlight. "Many things can be deceiving," he mused, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "So...where are you headed, Elsebeth Snow?"

Sandor appeared then, his hand dropping down on her shoulder and making everyone at the table jump in surprise. Gods, but he could be sneaky for such a big fucker.

"Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" he asked, his dark eyes narrowed and his teeth showing in a warning grin. 

Inan raised his hands and spread them magnanimously, "I meant no harm, friend. Curiosity has always been a weakness of mine."

"Aye," Sandor grunted, sitting down next to Elsebeth and setting a cup down in front of her so hard that a third of the wine sloshed out onto the table. "One among many, I'm sure."

Inan Zharras laughed his deep laugh again and said, "You may be right, friend. You may be right."

He could've let it go at that but the Hound sneered at him and said, "I'm not your friend. I don't make friends with pirates."

The men on either side of Inan laughed and he chuckled graciously along with them. "Pirate?" he asked. "What makes you think that I'm a pirate?"

Sandor's sneer was worse than ever, "You look like one."

Inan's smile was dazzling and his dark eyes met Sandor's without the slightest bit of worry; a show of courage Elsebeth had not seen from many men. "I can see where you might get that idea," he told the Hound. "But I haven't been a pirate for a very long time. I'm a businessman. There's more gold to be made in legitimate trade than in piracy these days."

Sandor grunted and drank wine, saying nothing.

Inan's eyes continued to sparkle in the torchlight as he said, "I was only asking your woman here where she was going because I thought we could do some business. I often take passengers to Essos...for a fee, of course."

"Aye," Sandor said, meeting the dark man's eyes with his own once more. "And slit their throats halfway there to get the rest of their gold, I imagine."

Inan's smile finally faltered a little but not as much as Elsebeth might have expected. "You wound me, ser," he said, placing one gold-laden hand over his heart. "I have no need for such barbaric acts. Ask anyone about me, they'll tell you. Inan Zharras is as good as his word."

"I hate cunts that refer to themselves in the third person," the Hound grumbled into his drink.

Inan laughed again and Elsebeth asked, "How much would it cost to buy passage on your ship?"

She was aware of Sandor's eyes on her, she could almost feel the anger coming off of him, but she ignored him as Inan said, "One hundred gold."

Sandor cursed and shook his head at this.

Inan's smile was in full bloom once more as he said, "Each."

The Hound slammed his cup down on the table, "Fuck off."

The men on either side of Inan both tensed and began to reach for their swords. Elsebeth turned to him and said, "Sandor! That's rude!"

His brown eyes turned to meet hers for the first time that day and something in his face softened. He looked for a moment as if he might apologize but then his countenance hardened once again and he looked away from her and back at the dark man. "I'm not paying you two hundred gold dragons just to get to Essos," he told him. "I can get a fishing boat to take us across the Narrow Sea for fifty."

Inan Zharras nodded and spread his hands in a manner that indicated he couldn't care less either way. "The choice is yours. If you want to ride in a cramped little cabin that stinks of fish, who am I to judge?" He shrugged. "If you want to ride in luxury, however, you ride with Inan. I have one of the finest merchant ships in all the free cities."

Sandor scoffed and muttered, "Good for you."

"Would we really have to pay so much?" Elsebeth asked Inan. "My friend here can be a little...ill-mannered at times but we wouldn't be any real trouble, I swear."

She felt the Hound's boot kick her ankle and she kicked him right back; focusing only on Inan as his inky eyes turned to regard her once more. "For you...maybe we could work something out," he said, rubbing his long fingers over his smooth chin. He appeared to think on it a moment before saying, "One hundred and fifty."

"One hundred," Elsebeth countered, kicking Sandor's foot away from her own as he tried again to get her attention.

Inan looked at her for a long time and finally said, "Fine. One hundred. But only if your friend there promises to play nice."

She smiled and opened her mouth to agree but then Sandor's hand clamped down on her bicep with crushing force. He dragged her to her feet without preamble; so angry that he could not speak but only growled like an animal. "One moment," she told the men looking up at them with surprised faces and then the Hound was jerking her away from the table and into a dark corner far from Inan and his men.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He hissed down at her, his lips skinned back from his teeth in fury. "I didn't say you could negotiate with that pirate!"

Elsebeth pulled her arm out of his grip not without effort and said, "We were just talking. We didn't strike a deal yet."

Sandor's eyes widened and now two hectic red patches were spreading on his cheeks, just below his eyes. He wasn't mad at her, he was absolutely livid. "It's not up to you to make deals with anyone!"

"What's the problem?" she asked, honestly puzzled. "I'm only trying to help. You said you wanted to buy passage on a boat. He has a boat..." She held up a hand and twirled it to indicate the rest.

"Gods-damn it, that's not the point," he told her, jabbing one finger at her face and making her flinch.

"Then what is the point?"

Sandor's hands clenched into fists and he spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing down at hers, "It's MY money! It's not yours to barter with!"

"Is that all?" she asked, trying not to let her face show how much his words stung. "We can always call it off. Like I said, no deal has been struck yet."

"Know your fucking place!" he shouted at her, causing a few heads to turn their way. "You're a woman! You sit there and keep your gods-damned mouth shut while the men make deals! Got it?!"

Her jaw clenched as she fought back the sudden tears in her eyes and she said, "Aye, Hound. I think I know my place now. Thank you so much for clearing that up for me."

Elsebeth heard him say her name but she ignored him and spun on her heel, walking quickly away from the Hound. She cleared her throat and blinked her eyes rapidly to dispel the tears in them; pushing her hurt feelings aside for the moment. She sat back down across from Inan and his men and took a big drink of her wine as Sandor took his place beside her again.

"Have we reached an agreement?" Inan asked, his eyes shifting from Elsebeth to Sandor and then back again. "One hundred gold dragons for passage to Essos?"

The Hound opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, "Seventy five and you have a deal."

Inan nodded and his smile returned as he stuck out one hand across the table from her, "Seventy five, yes. Shake on it."

Elsebeth took it and shook his hand, his grip warm and firm on hers as she smiled back at him, "As you say, Inan Zharras. As you say."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers flare a little on all sides, things are discussed.

~Twenty One~

Elsebeth knew Sandor was angry. It radiated outward from his every pore like a sickness; enveloping her in its stench even before she had finished shaking hands with the dark man. The Hound said nothing but she could feel him staring daggers at her the entire time they were at the table with Inan and his men. She wondered how much she had pushed his limits and if, perhaps, she had pushed them too far.

After eating and drinking their fill, she promised to meet Inan in the morning before his ship was ready to depart and went back outside onto the now darkened street with Sandor. He didn't yell at her as soon as they were outside, despite her expectations, he only took her arm in his and led her to an inn further down the road. After paying for a room, he took her upstairs and when the door was closed and barred behind them, she walked to the middle of the sparsely furnished room and turned to face him; trying to prepare herself for whatever was coming next.

But Sandor only stood with his back to the door, looking at her. His scowl was so severe that his lips had disappeared; leaving only a crude black slash where they had once been. He looked dangerous at that moment, more so than ever, and she tried not to show how the sight of him chilled her blood. This heavy silence was worse than all his cursing and shouting at her had been.

When he didn't move and only continued to stare at her, his body shaking slightly as his big hands clenched and unclenched into fists, she asked, "Do you want to hit me, Hound?"

His eyes widened a bit in shock and his face flushed with sudden guilt. Aye, he'd been thinking about it and she'd plucked the thought out of his head as easily as if it were low-hanging, bitter fruit. He could try, she decided. He could certainly try...but she wouldn't be anyone's victim. Even if she cared a great deal for the person raising a hand to her, as she thought she might for Sandor, ultimately she would defend herself if she had to do so. More than likely, it wouldn't end well for either one of them.

"Why would I hit you?" he asked, his voice low; seething. She could see him struggling to speak evenly as his eyes continued to spit fire at her. "What good would it do?"

"Not one damn bit," she admitted, swallowing hard.

He let out a deep breath and forced his hands to straighten so that he could scrub them over his hairy face and growl simultaneously in a gesture of frustration, "I'm not going to hit you...not even if you do deserve it. So you can just keep your fucking knives in your belt."

When he took his hands away from his face Elsebeth showed him her empty hands and said, "No need to worry. I intend to be as civil about this as possible."

His eyes met hers once more and he said, "Fucking hell...you know, sometimes I think you're trying to make me just as crazy as you are."

She shrugged and gave him a tight, humorless smile, "I may be crazy but I got us passage on a ship within an hour of arriving here. What would you have done? Drink yourself stupid and waste time, that's what. We'll be out of Westeros by tomorrow morning. Isn't that what you wanted?"

He came closer to her; his boots thudding heavily on the floorboards, his face still wearing that dangerous look. "What I wanted was to ask around a little," he told her. "Find the best deal for my money. Not link up with the first smooth-talking pirate who glanced my way."

"Fair enough," she allowed with a wave of one hand. "Go speak with others, if you'd like. There's still plenty of time before morning comes."

Sandor came close enough to touch her but his hands remained firmly at his sides though they were clenched into fists once again, "No, there's no point. Everyone's either drunk, balls deep in a whore or passed out by now. And, besides, I'm dead on my feet here. All I want is to sleep for the next ten hours or so. We'll go in the morning and have a look at this pirate's ship." He pointed one finger at her and his eyes were hard and uncompromising as he stared down at her. "If I sense anything amiss, if I even get the slightest hint that he's not the businessman he claims to be, we're going to find a different ship. No discussion, no backtalk; nothing. Do you understand me?"

Elsebeth gave him a mock curtsey, spreading invisible skirts out on either side of her hips, and smiling up at him in a way that never reached her angry blue eyes, "Aye, ser. It is your money, after all."

Sandor's eyes narrowed again and he said, "Stop it, Elsebeth. Don't call me that...you know I hate it."

She stood up straight and said, "All apologies, Hound. I'll keep my mouth shut and be sure to be mindful of 'my place'."

He was shaking with the effort it took to restrain himself and she knew she was pushing him again, pushing him too hard, but she couldn't help herself. She was still hurt, still mad at him, and she'd never been one to let go of it easily. Much like the Hound himself, she could hold a grudge until death.

Sandor muttered a curse under his breath and went swiftly past her; heading for the bed before he could lose his temper completely. She watched him curse and struggle to get out of his armor for a moment, her anger fading just a bit and guilt for having needled him that way coming to take it's place. She sighed in disgust at herself and came to his side with a head bowed in embarrassment, "Here, Sandor. Let me help you."

He glanced over at her and gave a nod even though his jaw was set in that stubborn expression he wore whenever they argued. She quickly helped him remove everything, now an old hand at this, and set it aside next to their packs. She could feel him watching her again as she dug through her pack for a set of cleaner clothes but she did her best to bear it. She dressed, still feeling his eyes on her, and then turned back around to meet his gaze. 

Sandor's eyes didn't look away from hers and she felt her stomach start to churn nervously again. She hadn't sensed desire in him so strongly since they'd made love during the storm and she wondered why it would make it's appearance now of all times. He was still mad at her, she could feel it, but underneath it there was a hint of that ravenous lust in his dark eyes for the first time in almost a week and it was even stronger than his anger. To see it there so plainly scared her a little but her response to it scared her more. She'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't want him just as much as he wanted her. Underneath her irritation and hurt feelings, her own desire for him was as strong as it had ever been.

"What?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He seemed to tear his eyes away from her with great reluctance and shook his head. "Nothing. I just..." He made another animalistic, growling noise and said, "Goodnight, Elsebeth."

Then he was climbing under the covers and turning to face the wall, his broad back the only thing visible to her wide eyed gaze. She breathed a shallow sigh that was somehow relieved and disappointed at the same time and went to the bed on legs that didn't feel completely steady any longer; lying down beside him back to back. Soon enough Sandor was snoring and she found herself drifting off as well, grateful that he hadn't lost his temper despite her stupidly trying to pick another fight with him. He'd scared the shit out of her for a moment but he hadn't yelled at her again or raised his hand even once. She counted herself lucky and soon enough the blank haze of sleep wiped away her troubled thoughts.

***

Elsebeth and Sandor met Inan at the dock the next morning. His ship was just as grand as he'd boasted; most certainly the nicest one in the harbour on this grey day. It had huge striped sails and masts; the body of it long, darkly gleaming and smelling strongly of the sea. There were a great many men on its scrubbed deck and not all of them were ebony-skinned like Inan but most were. Elsebeth was awe-struck by the ship's size and beauty, unable to tear her eyes away from the mermaid carved into the bow of the ship once she'd spotted it. The hair, the mouth, the eyes so lifelike that she almost expected the wooden face to turn and the hollow curve of the mermaid's eyes to meet her own.

When Inan saw them approaching he turned to greet them and smiled big, showing as much gold as he had the night before. He spread his long, thin arms toward his ship, "Did I lie to you? Is this not the finest ship you have ever laid eyes on?"

Elsebeth smiled back at him and said, "It's gorgeous, Inan."

Sandor grunted and spat into the sea, seemingly unimpressed.

"We have some time yet before we depart," Inan said. "If you have any affairs to put in order, now is the time."

"I haven't decided whether or not I trust you enough to step foot onto this monstrosity," Sandor said, his face grim with determination as he set his pack down on the dock with a heavy thud. "You and I need to talk before we go any further."

Inan's smile thinned some and now his dark eyes regarded Sandor with a shrewd expression, "The deal was done last night. To back out now...that is not good business." 

Several of Inan's men were paying close attention to them now and Elsebeth saw many of them lay hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to draw them the moment Inan might need their steel. Elsebeth felt her stomach begin to twist in anxiety. If things got ugly, she and the Hound had no hope of getting out of this unscathed. There were just too many of them even if they weren't all armed. She supposed she could dive into the water and try to swim away before she was cut to ribbons by the closest men but that would require abandoning Sandor. There was no way he could swim in all that armor. He'd sink like a fucking stone. She didn't know if she was cold-blooded enough to do that but she didn't want to find out, either.

"You made your deal with her," the Hound said, gesturing at Elsebeth with one thick finger. "I don't ever recall you and I shaking on it. The least we can do is make sure that our terms are clear and we're in agreement on everything."

Inan's eyes regarded Sandor for a long time and finally he bowed in apology and said, "Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me, ser. Let us speak a moment, man to man."

He and Sandor walked away to speak in private and Elsebeth watched them go; some of the tension slowly working its way out of her neck and shoulders. The men around her also seemed to relax and she shrugged her pack up higher on her back before giving them a half-hearted smile. One or two smiled back but most of them remained expressionless and went back to what they had been doing...all but the two men who had been with Inan in the tavern the night before. They stood close by her and she could feel their dark eyes on her, both of them stone-faced and unblinking. Perhaps they saw her weapons and thought of her as more of a threat than most men did. If so they were wiser souls than most.

She shifted nervously from foot to foot under their gaze, craning her neck to look over at Sandor and Inan where they stood thirty paces from her and Inan's men. They appeared to be talking about something calmly for a minute or two, their voices hushed and indecipherable to her, and then Inan was nodding so she took that as a good sign. When Sandor actually cracked a bit of a smile as the two men finally shook hands, Elsebeth felt relief wash through her; thanking the gods that they might not meet their deaths that day after all.

It was going to be okay. They were getting off of this accursed land today and she couldn't be happier about it. It was about fucking time.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elsebeth forget hurt feelings and pride after a close brush with death.

~Twenty Two~

It was their third day at sea when they saw the devil. It had been storming off and on since the night before and the sea churned beneath the boat constantly but Inan assured them both that all was well. That afternoon, however, Elsebeth and Sandor heard men begin shouting in alarm from somewhere above their cabin. Even amid the booming thunder and creaking of the ship and despite the fact that the dark men were speaking a language completely foreign to them both, there was no mistaking the fear and panic that could be heard in those raised voices. Sandor and Elsebeth exchanged a worried look before rushing out of their room and up the stairs to see what was causing such a stir.

As soon as they emerged on deck Elsebeth saw the charcoal smudge of the sky light sporadically with bursts of lightning all around them and was worried. The rain came down fast and hard and big chunks of ice were falling from the sky, pelting them mercilessly and drenching them instantly. The wind was so strong that she had to grab Sandor's arm to keep from being knocked over by it and then hold onto it in a death grip in order to keep herself steady. Men were rushing here and there, barking at each other in their strange tongue, and many of them were glancing over their shoulders at the horizon on the starboard side of Inan's ship; all eyes huge with undisguised terror. Elsebeth followed their gaze and felt all of the blood rush out of her face at once when she saw what loomed there.

There was an enormous vertical funnel in the sky, dark and wide; sweeping across the raging waters like a deadly apparition only glimpsed in nightmares. She barely felt the ice thumping her head and shoulders any longer as she watched gape-mouthed while, over a mile away, another ship unfortunately lying in the funnel's path was overwhelmed and swept up as if it were no more consequential than a child's toy. Even with the storm's violent cacophony booming overhead, she thought she could hear wood splintering and hundreds of men screaming as the boat somehow twisted in on itself and exploded in a shower of debris. What was left of the boat began to sink immediately after it hit the water and she clutched at Sandor in horror as it was quickly devoured beneath crashing waves.

"By the gods!" she nearly screamed at him. "What is it?!"

The Hound's eyes were wide and haunted as he watched the funnel race across the churning surface of the sea; coming closer to where they were. He slowly shook his head and shouted back, "I don't know!"

Suddenly one of the ebony-skinned deckhands stopped in his tracks to shout at them in an accent so thick that his words didn't make sense to her at first. "Get below deck!" A wave crashed against the ship and he almost fell, yelling a guttural curse in his native language. Turning his attention back to them, he grimaced and tried again, "Go! Now! Below deck!"

Sandor growled and pushed him away, saying nothing, and the man gave up on them, racing off without protest or a second glance at them to obey more orders shouted at him from somewhere nearby. Elsebeth and the Hound huddled together by the doors leading below deck but neither one of them moved from where they stood. They both knew that if that ugly cloud of death came for them they'd be no safer below deck than above it. 

"Is it going to come for us next?!" Elsebeth worried, still holding his arm and squinting to see as rain and ice peppered her reddening skin. "Is it going to chew us up too?!"

Sandor turned to look at her and laid a hand on her cheek as if to calm her; his dark eyes frightened and yet somehow accepting of what might come at the same time. "If it does, it does!" he shouted back. "There's nothing we can do about it!"

They clung to each other tightly as another wave of water crashed over the boat and nearly sent them sprawling. There was a scream from one of the men and then another wave hit them, making them scramble harder than ever to keep their footing. Elsebeth looked over at the funnel in the sky once more and saw that it had definitely drawn closer; appearing to be nearly twice the size it had seemed before. She felt cold all over as she realized that it was heading right for them; following some inexplicable course over the raging waters. It was as if the wretched thing had heard her words and liked the idea of making Inan's glorious vessel it's next meal.

Then Inan himself was standing before them, seemingly appearing out of thin air, wrapping his skinny arms around their shoulders and pushing them further back toward the doors. "Below deck, now!" He commanded, his charm lost in urgency. "It is not safe here for you!"

"What in the seven hells is that thing?!" Sandor shouted at him, pushing his arm away from him just as he had done to the other man. He glanced from Inan to the funnel and then back again, "It tore an entire fucking boat in half! What kind of madness is this?!" 

"We call it a water devil!" Inan shouted back before he stumbled as the boat rocked violently to one side against another large wave. Elsebeth caught him before he could fall but just barely. He righted himself again and passed a shaking hand over his dark face before continuing, "It is one of the biggest that I have ever seen and we must try to outrun her if we can! Please, my friends, get below deck! I would hate to lose you to the sea!"

Finally Sandor acquiesced and allowed Inan to herd them back into false safety again. Once they were under cover he left them and hurriedly shut the door behind him on the way out. Elsebeth heard Inan's footsteps running off and then his deep voice shouting more commands at his men; moving further and further away as thunder continually exploded overhead and the walls before them shivered from the force of it.

"A devil," the Hound said, breathless and sounding as if he could hardly believe the words escaping his mouth. "Did he really just call that thing a fucking devil?"

"Aye," she said, her lips and fingertips numb; her clothes heavy with water on her frame. "Let's get back to our room and pray. We'll both do it, okay? You to your gods and me to mine. That way one of them's bound to hear us." She bit her lip a moment and winced as the thunder crashed around them even closer than before. "But first we're going to get that stupid armor off of you in case they all decide to ignore us anyway." 

***

They managed to avoid the water devil thanks to Inan and his men working tirelessly to make it happen but Elsebeth and the Hound knew it was a close thing. At one point they could hear it rushing up from behind the ship, even in their cozy little cabin where they sat on silken sheets clutching desperately onto one another; the water devil announced it's approach by shrieking like a thousand dead souls trapped in unimaginable torment. Elsebeth closed her eyes, waiting for the end; too scared to pray any longer as the boards of the ship shuddered violently all around them. Then the front end of the ship rose impossibly high as it rode a huge swell of water and they both tumbled off of the bed when it crashed back down again nose first.

Then the world-shaking presence of the water devil veered off to their left and they were racing away from it; far off course from where they had been before. Elsebeth and Sandor clung to each other on the floor of the cabin and when Sandor began laughing she joined him; relief giving their laughter a hysterical quality that had little sense or sanity in it.

Elsebeth hugged the Hound to her close, holding him as tight as she could, "I can't believe we're alive!"

Sandor laughed and hugged her back just as tightly with his powerful arms. "Neither can I," he said, his voice low, stunned as he pulled back to look at her.

Still smiling, her heart racing in exhilaration, she peered into his dark eyes and for a moment it was as if she could see right through him; right into the depths of his very soul. All anger, hurt and pride had been stripped away from him and the man he was underneath, the loyal and strong heart that drew her to him by instinct like a moth to flame, was laid bare before her. She realized that there was no one else she would rather be tangled up on the floor together with like this and, even after what had just happened, there was certainly no place she'd rather be than right here beside him.

She saw the hungry look come into his eyes all at once and her lips parted for his even before he dipped his head down toward hers. As their tongues met, she could feel Sandor's hands on her clothes, urgently tugging and pulling; already trying to get them off of her. She helped him and, once she was naked, she pulled his off as well until there were no more barriers left between their flesh. His mouth was hungry on hers, his breathing hard and fast as his hands came up to grasp the back of her neck and urge her forward.

When she reached down to grip his cock in one hand he pulled his mouth away from hers and groaned, drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes met hers for a moment and he smiled before suddenly gathering her in his arms and lifting her up as he got to his feet. He carried her until he tossed her onto the bed and climbed onto it with her. Elsebeth tried to sit but Sandor was pushing against her until she was lying flat on her back. He leaned down to kiss her again and she felt her heart beating triple-time as he hovered over her, the heat of his skin warming hers. After a long while he broke their kiss; her lips left swollen and tingling and her head spinning like a top. She felt his mouth press against her exposed throat, trailing kisses down until he eventually reached her heaving breasts.

He took her left nipple into his mouth and she cried out in pleasure even as the ship hit another wave and left her feeling as though she were flying weightlessly for a moment. His mouth teased and tortured her tender flesh until she was moaning and squirming beneath him and she looked down to see his eyes avidly watching her. She brushed hair out of his face, biting her lip as he pulled gently at the taut nub on her breast. His mouth released her long enough to trail kisses along the way to her other breast and he began to eagerly work on her right nipple.

"Sandor, please, don't stop," she breathed as she continued to squirm helplessly beneath him. "It feels..."

But she couldn't find the right words to express how wonderful his mouth felt as it gently sucked and rolled her nipple across his tongue. There were no words; there was only this immense feeling of pleasure as his other hand came up to gently grip her hip to hold her still. She heard him grunt in a satisfied way and then he was pulling away from her, leaving her to moan at the loss of sensation.

Before she could gather her thoughts enough to be aware of it, Sandor was kissing her scarred stomach; trailing down further and further until he reached the downy curls concealing the wetness between her legs. She gasped as he nuzzled against her mound suddenly and the much coarser hair that grew on his chin raked across the tiny, sensitive button at the topmost part of her slit. She opened her mouth to inquire about what he was doing, feeling nervous with this unfamiliar turn of events, when he leaned down farther and let his tongue explore where his beard had just been.

She gasped again, her hips bucking so hard that she almost threw him off, and cried out, "Sandor! What are you doing?"

Elsebeth saw him smiling up at her for only a second before he let his eyes slipped closed and he plunged his tongue between the parting again; lapping at that little button and making her cry out in surprise. She jerked almost convulsively as he traced slow circles around that over-sensitive nub and she felt him wrap his arms around her thighs in a tight grip to prevent her from throwing him off; pinning her to the bed as her hips bucked helplessly again and again.

She couldn't seem to catch her breath as Sandor's tongue continued exploring, sliding down until he was burying it inside of her warmth and licking the wetness there; that animal-like growling noise issuing from somewhere deep in his chest. She gasped and squirmed and moaned; almost succeeding in wriggling away from him even though there was no real desire in her to escape. The sensations were just too much and she reached down toward his burly shoulders as if to push him away without realizing it. He responded by clamping his arms down harder around her shaking legs, holding her so tight that she could barely move anymore.

"S-Sandor, I..." But her words died on her lips; all thought lost as he continued with desperate enthusiasm.

He drew away a moment and released one of her legs to slip a finger into the warm spot his tongue had just vacated. Then he returned to licking around the little nub that had made her jerk helplessly before. But her involuntary struggling was weaker as he started again and she caressed the back of his head with shaking hands as she bit her lower lip almost hard enough to bleed. The storm was still raging outside, huge waves crashing against the boat and thunder booming overhead, but she wasn't aware of any of it. She was lost and wandering blissfully blind through pleasure that unwound from her center; her skin prickling as her body alternated between hot and cold flushes, her cheeks reddened and eyes shut tight.

By the time Sandor finally drew away from her and got his knees again, she lay there unable to move, her eyes heavy-lidded and chest heaving as she struggled to return to a normal breathing pattern or thought process. She opened her eyes again and was first aware of him smiling down at her; the scars on the right side of his face making it quite lopsided. He bent to kiss at her throat again, moving slowly and teasing her skin with his lips. She reached down through air that felt thick enough to mimic water and gripped the rock-hard appendage that hung down between his hairy thighs. She smiled a little when she heard him gasp in surprise as she gently squeezed him.

"Please," she whispered into the hollow of his ear. "I can't wait anymore."

He rose up to look at her and she saw that wild hunger dancing in his dark eyes again. "Aye," he breathed, still wearing his crooked smile. "You don't have to ask me twice."

He shifted a little until her thighs were on either side of his hips and took himself in hand. There was no hesitation before he was guiding himself in easily and moaning when her slickness took him in. She moaned beneath him as well and gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in but too blunt to break his skin. She felt him push gently forward until his hardness filled her completely.

"That's better," Elsebeth whispered.

She heard him laugh breathlessly at this and looked up at him, their eyes meeting once more. As he lowered himself down she wrapped her arms around his back and held on tight. When she felt him begin to trail kisses along her jawline again she turned her head and met his lips with her own. He seemed surprised at first but then eagerly kissed her back, his attempts still as clumsy and sweet as she'd remembered. His hand came up to lay along her face, holding her there as if she would turn away from him.

When he began to rock her back and forth, his cock gliding in and then slipping out of her in hard and yet slow thrusts she did finally turn away, crying out and squeezing her eyes closed as the heat began to build inside of her core. She lay beneath him, holding onto him as well as she could but he was too strong. When he suddenly pulled her up and lay back at the same time she cried out in surprise and fell on top of him, her blue eyes wide as she looked down at him.

Their connection had not broken completely as he'd reversed their positions but she hovered above him now as he grinned that crooked grin and stared into her eyes. She felt Sandor's hands release her biceps to slide down to her hips and gently push. Elsebeth felt heat flush her cheeks as she slid down further onto his shaft and covered her mouth with one hand, looking away. She shivered as he slid in as far as he could and she felt his left hand release her hip long enough to pull her hand away from her face. His hand cupped her chin and turned her face to him once again.

"I want you to look at me," Sandor said, his voice thick, heavy; serious even with the smile he still wore. She did as he asked and his dark eyes searched her face for a long moment before he brushed a tangled lock from her eyes. "There. That's better," his smile wider than ever.

Elsebeth was the one to give a breathless huff of laughter and then his hand returned to her hip, pressing her down as he rose up and lifted her a little with him. She moaned thoughtlessly and began to roll her hips languidly over his, creating a wonderful friction that immediately started the warmth to spread from her center again. He growled in approval, his smile gone, and began thrusting his own hips upward with more fervor; his rigid cock buried so deep in her that it had just a tinge of pain behind every push.

It didn't take long at all before she felt the gathering power of her climax begin to run through her. She finally looked away as she cried out again and he groaned as she began to twitch helplessly around his girth. He thrusted only a few more times before a deep rumble of a groan tore from his own heaving chest and she felt the heat of his seed spilling within her. The sensation only heightened her own orgasm and it seemed to last forever before she gently coasted down from it; leaving her shaking and weak-kneed over him.

She collapsed onto his chest, gasping for breath, and he chuckled again as his hands slid upward to wrap his hairy arms around her. His heart was pounding just below her right ear as she lay there fighting to calm her breathing again. After a long moment she felt him shift and place a soft kiss on top of her head.

Elsebeth slowly smiled and placed a kiss on his furry chest, the pleasant smell of his sweat filling her nostrils. She felt the ship rocking her gently as the connection between them slowly faded before she slid off of him and lay beside him, too tired to do much more than lift her head long enough to allow him to slip his arm under her. She heard him humming a little and she smiled once more, glad that he sounded happy even if she knew it wouldn't last forever. She began to doze then and the tune he hummed followed her down into the haze, leaving behind all thought or worry for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been trying to finish this chapter forever.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the wind stops blowing things get ugly on Inan's ship. 
> 
> (Not extremely exciting I suppose, but it does serve to move the story in the direction I want it to go.)

~Twenty Three~

Not long after the storm was over and they were far away from danger, the wind suddenly died on them. It didn't lessen or stop only to start up again; it simply quit blowing altogether. For over a week they drifted aimlessly, the waves pushing them further and further away from their intended destination as the sails lay limply against the masts, never stirring once. Elsebeth knew that tensions on the boat were growing worse by the day. There had already been several fights and one murder among Inan's men. Elsebeth and Sandor stayed in their cabin as much as they possibly could; only coming out for meals or to perform daily necessities.

She could feel the hostile eyes of Inan's men on her any time she stepped foot outside of the cabin. Once those eyes had been disinterested and, on occasion, even friendly but now all those dark stares made the hair on the back of her neck rise up in apprehension. They took their meals in Inan's cabin after the first three days and when the wind still hadn't returned by the eighth day, they began sleeping in there as well.

Inan seemed confident at first that the wind would return but by the fourth day of drifting, he began to look worried. By the sixth he rarely left his quarters and kept his bodyguards by his side wherever he went. There was talk of something called mutiny and Elsebeth couldn't understand everything that was going on but she knew that meant trouble for Inan and any of his potential allies; including her and the Hound. She prayed to her gods that the wind would return but, as was often the case, they ignored her every word. 

***

She came awake in the wee hours of the morning on the twelfth day as someone's boot nudged her back. She sat up, struggling to clear her head, and heard what sounded like men fighting outside; screamed curses, swords clashing together, a long blood-curdling scream suddenly cut short with lethal finality. Then they began hacking at the doors leading into the captain's cabin and she got to her feet at once. Sandor was standing in front of their pallet with his sword out and his armor on, his attention focused on the angry cries outside of the ornately carved double doors. She turned around to see Inan with his curved sword in one hand, his wild-eyed bodyguards flanking him on either side. He saw her look at him and gave a nod, his handsome face lined with worry.

Then more men began hacking at the door, shouting and threatening in their native language as the sound of steel on wood filled the captain's cabin. She knew they would be through soon and readied her bow to stand beside Sandor; the cobwebs of sleep gone as the sounds outside the door swelled to a fever pitch. It wouldn't be long, she knew. There had to be at least a dozen men working on the doors with swords and axes.

"They are going to get through," Inan said as he walked up to where they stood, his face nearly ashen and yet the hard look in his eyes never failing. "Be ready, my friends. We may die tonight."

"Never mind that," Sandor spat, his big teeth showing in a hateful grimace that might have been mistaken for a smile to someone who didn't know him well. "We'll take out as many of the fuckers as we can. Get the rest to scatter."

Inan made a show of looking around the cabin, his eyebrows raised as he turned back around to peer up at the taller man, "If we had an army I might be inclined to agree with you. Since it's only the five of us, I suggest you make your every swing count. Try to take them out in twos and threes."

Sandor laughed humorlessly as the first axe blade managed to hack a hole through the wood and went to work on widening it. Then another came through and another; chopping away at the wood a chunk at a time. There was a long, agonized groaning noise and the doors shivered in the frame before a tremendous crash came as they finally broke through.

She saw them pouring in, two and three at a time, all screaming and cursing, most of them brandishing weapons. Elsebeth strafed to the left and quickly put her bow to work; an arrow through the chest of the first man, another through the belly of the second, a third through the eye of another. Sandor, Inan and his men stood their ground to meet the first mutineers and cut them all down one by one. She took down three more men but they kept coming, getting far too close, so she shouldered her bow to grab her knives and meet the first man who made it to her.

She ducked under his clumsy swing and sliced his belly. As he went down screaming she narrowly avoided another sword and stabbed the second man between his third and forth rib, pulling it out as another dark man ran at her. Then a hot line of fire raced across her brow as the butt of another sword smashed into her and she went down. She faintly heard Sandor bellowing her name but the ground was rushing up to meet her and when it did she lost consciousness.

***

They were drifting on a small row boat when Elsebeth came to once more; her, Sandor, Inan, his bodyguards and three other deckhands that had remained loyal to their captain. There were no supplies other than a cask of water and the mutineers had taken their weapons. Her head was pounding fiercely and the other men had many cuts and scrapes and bruises. She tried her best to patch them up but with nothing to use for sterilization or bandaging she couldn't do much. Sandor worried her with his wounds but claimed to be fine. She had been relatively untouched by comparison and, according to Inan, the only reason any of them were still alive was because Inan had always been a fair man; shrewd and bloodthirsty on occasion, but fair. 

Despite their careful rationing, the water ran out on the sixth day. One of the deckhands, a skinny man named Hamash, died from a festering wound on his leg. On the seventh day of drifting in their little boat, another deckhand named Tyrdor, suddenly began to drink the seawater. Everyone tried to stop him, warn him, even physically pull him away, but no matter what they did he was not swayed. He drank handful after handful of seawater; his belly swelling as he filled it with certain death.

A few hours later he began to hallucinate, raving and flailing wildly, and said to Inan that he would swim for help. Inan tried to talk him out of it but Tyrdor, his wide eyes rolling in their sockets like a frightened horse's, wouldn't listen. He jumped over the side of the boat and swam into the distance for a while before sinking beneath the surface; disappearing without so much as a single cry to herald his demise.

It rained that night and they collected as much of it as they possibly could, filling the cask and even their shoes with the life-sustaining liquid. The next morning the sharks showed up and the last deckhand, a light-skinned boy who had been the cook's helper named Jurne, began to show signs of fever. The sharks followed them all that long day and the next and when Jurne died, they threw him overboard and let the sharks have him. Elsebeth sat on the rough wood of the boat feeling the sharks thump the underside as they ripped Jurne to pieces and cried, thinking that they were all going to die. Drift here in this endless open expanse of nothing until the sun baked them or they sacrificed themselves to the gliding monsters stalking their every move. Sandor held her and rocked her but he could offer little comfort, though he did try.

***

Days and days passed and, as they continued to drift, time lost all meaning. Their lips were dry and cracked, eyes sunken into their sockets, their bodies growing leaner and leaner. Sandor and Elsebeth, who had much lighter skin than Inan and his bodyguards, burned and peeled only to burn again. Brief squalls sent rainwater their way and they sipped at what they could collect of it, conserving as much as possible.

Elsebeth woke on the evening of perhaps their tenth day (or was it the twentieth?) when the bottom of their boat hit something solid. She sat up and looked to see that they had hit land. A huge mass of it; a long white, sandy beach and the thick, densely packed green of jungle behind it. She awoke the others with a rusty cry and they sat up, eyes wide and unbelieving.

When she saw people coming their way with spears in their hands she heard Inan say something to his men and one of them repeated one of the words in a shocked tone, "Sothoryos?" Slowly he shook his head, his expression stunned.

Then the men and women were upon them, spears pointed threateningly, their eyes almond-shaped and muddy. They were squat and powerfully built, with broad flat noses and thick, backward-sloping brows. Their skin was dark, even darker than Inan's, and they had painted some white substance upon their exposed flesh in intricate designs; loops and swirls and dots and streaks.

One of the men jabbed at Sandor with the tip of his spear, speaking some language that sounded like a series of odd, clicking whistles, and the Hound swatted the spear away with more strength than she thought the big man would have left in him. "Fuck off!" he growled.

The men and women seemed to take this in for a moment and spoke together in their strange language; possibly discussing what should be done with these strange creatures who had washed up on their shore. There seemed to be a heated argument going on for a moment and then Elsebeth held her hands out to one of the women, tears in her eyes. "Please," she said. "Please. Help us."

The woman's eyes widened at the word 'help' and she turned to quickly confer with an older man who had long white ropes for hair, his eyes deep set and unafraid. They clicked and whistled at each other a bit and then the woman reached down to put her thickly muscled arms beneath her, lifting Elsebeth out of the boat as easily as if she were a child.

Sandor began to protest but Inan hushed him and then the whistling people were helping them all out of the boat, helping them to stand on unsteady legs as they touched solid land for the first time in weeks. Elsebeth felt a cool, wrinkled hand lay on her brow and looked up into the face of the old man with white hair.

"Please," she said again.

The old man nodded and seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say, the word forming oddly on his thick lips, "H-halp." He nodded again and tried once more, "Halp." Then he smiled at her, a kind smile, and she began to cry even though there wasn't enough moisture left in her to wring out more than a drop or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. It's been a busy week.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our survivors meet their gracious host.

~Twenty Four~

Elsebeth didn't remember much of her first couple of days there in the village; she was far too sick to remain conscious for very long. There was an old woman with a kindly weathered face who brought her water and some bitter tasting broth with bits of green herbs floating in it. She tried to refuse the broth at first but the woman clicked and whistled at her insistently and wouldn't leave until Elsebeth managed to choke it all down. She didn't see Sandor but occasionally she could hear him howling her name at the top of his lungs the few times she was lucid enough to be aware of it.

She slept mostly and she was aware that she had a terrible fever when she did wake; so weak that she could barely rise, shaking and sweating. After her third day inside of the tiny hut with earthen walls, however, the fever finally broke and she was able to sit for a while before exhaustion inevitably overwhelmed her again. The old woman came once more and forced another bowlful of horrid broth on her, smiling, jabbering that strange language at her and wiping Elsebeth's face with a cool cloth. Elsebeth thanked her and the old woman shushed her before she went about the quick business of cleaning her up a little more. She helped Elsebeth out of her out of her filthy clothes and into a loose night shirt that was a bit ragged but comfortable and refreshingly sweet-smelling compared to what she'd been wearing before.

On the fourth day she felt much stronger, almost back to normal, when a boy no older than Jurne had been came into the hut around midday. At first she worried her fever had returned because the boy began speaking the common tongue instead of clicking or whistling at her. It was so unexpected that she could only stare at him with wide eyes as he approached her.

"How are you feeling today, miss?" he asked in a perfectly clear voice, smiling and showing a mouthful of crooked white teeth.

He was lighter skinned than any of the other natives she'd seen and his nose wasn't as broad and flat as theirs had been, either. He was thinner and taller than most of them too; almost as tall as her. Much like Elsebeth herself, he didn't look as though he quite belonged among them.

"I feel a lot better," she said after a pause in which she debated with herself whether or not he was really there. Either way, she supposed it didn't matter. "Where's Sandor?" That was the truly pressing concern to her at the moment.

The boy cocked his head in a curious manner and blinked his big brown eyes at her several times, "Oh...are you meaning the angry man?"

"Aye," she returned. "I've heard him yelling off and on...though not for some time now. Tell me, please. Does he still live?"

The boy's smile returned with renewed vigor and he nodded, "Yes. He lives. Artos was able to save all of the men who came on shore with you."

Elsebeth's eyebrow lifted in confusion, "Who is Artos?"

"The red man."

Elsebeth stood from the pallet of animal skins that had served as her sick bed and faced the boy again on unsteady legs, "What's a red man?"

"You'll see," the boy said, his smile dissolving and his face becoming serious. "He is a good man. He has helped many people here before you. Artos is the reason you still draw breath."

"I would like to meet this man, then," she said, drawing herself up on tiptoe and letting the crackle of her spine punctuate her words. "But first I would like to see Sandor and Inan...if I can."

"Of course," the boy said, his smile making an appearance once again; slightly assuaging her. "Artos asked me to gather you together so that he can properly greet you all at once."

Elsebeth followed him out of the hut and into the sunshine of early morning. She winced when the bright light hit her eyes like daggers after three days of semi-darkness and the boy offered his arm to her. She took it and he led her squinting and shuffling through the dirt as she carefully peered at her surroundings. It was a small clearing in dense jungle and there were a great many huts like the one she'd lain in; all made of mud and clay with fresh cut branches for roofs.

There were people moving about here and there, more squat bodies with dark skin painted with intricate designs in white, and she noticed that none of them paid them much attention; just went about their business as usual. Some were tending to animals or tanning hide, others carrying big baskets of odd fruit on top of their heads. The men wore loin cloths and the women did as well; their teats dangling out in the open for all to see. They clicked and whistled amiably at one another as they passed and hardly any of them glanced her way. That was until a group of playing children came up and began to follow them, snatching at the long hem of her shirt and giggling until the boy leading her snapped at them and sent them scampering off again.

Otherwise, they passed unmolested and the boy led her to another hut; smiling at her once more before pushing past the hide covered door. Elsebeth followed him inside and saw Sandor lay sleeping on another pallet. She released the boy's arm and went to her man, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. Falling on her knees beside him, she cried out his name and his eyes opened at once. The surprised joy she glimpsed there on his face in that moment brought tears to her eyes and then his arms were around her, crushing her to him in an awkward hug.

"Elsebeth," he breathed into her hair. "Oh gods, I've been so worried about you."

She smiled as his lips found her cheek and trailed hot kisses all the way to her mouth. She kissed him back and then drew away, looking down at his face with eyes that steadily leaked. "I was worried about you, too," she said. "I heard you shouting a few times and I wanted to find you but I was too sick to stand. When I didn't hear you yell anymore I got really scared."

Sandor sat up and drew the loosely-woven blanket off of his legs. He was much thinner than before but he was still an impressively large man; the hairy chest and thighs she glimpsed almost exactly the same as she remembered. He reached out for her face and gently cupped the left side with his palm, his brown eyes caught on hers.

"You don't look too bad," he said. "A little skinnier than usual but...it's really you, isn't it?"

He smiled as she leaned into his hand, placing a kiss on the rough skin of his palm, "It's really me."

"I dreamed of you," Sandor whispered, still smiling his crooked smile as his dark eyes searched her face. "Every night I dreamed of your face and your laugh and when I woke to find you gone again...I screamed for you. I screamed for you over and over but you never answered."

"I would have if I could have," she told him.

He hugged her tight again and whispered, "I know."

The boy cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, "I apologize for the interruption but Artos is waiting. Your friends should be waiting for you there as well."

Elsebeth helped the Hound stand and caught him when he stumbled. He growled a curse and said, "I'm all right. Don't fuss over me so much, woman."

She released him and stood nearby anyway in case he should lose strength in his legs again. He didn't and hitched up the well-worn breeches someone had given him; tying the strings at the waist even tighter than before on his now narrow hips. She helped him shrug into a shirt and then they were following the boy back out into the sunshine. Sandor hissed in pain at the light and now she held his arm, guiding him just as the boy had done for her. It was good to feel his skin under hers, she thought. To feel the heat and life of him so strongly after so much time spent fearing the worst.

The boy led them to another hut, this one larger than any other she'd seen, and brought them inside. It was mostly dark inside but she clearly saw Inan and his bodyguards sitting at a large table that had been carved from the stump of a huge tree, drinking and eating from some great dish of fruits and vegetables. They all stood when Sandor and Elsebeth entered and Inan cried, "Friends! It is good to see you!"

He came around the table to shake their hands and Elsebeth noted that the angles in his dark face were sharper than ever. When she hugged him against her for a moment he felt like little more than flesh and bones, though he seemed energetic enough. He had been a skinny man before but his time at sea had left him so gaunt that she wondered how he could be feeling as well as he apparently did...or how he could still be alive at all.

"Ah, welcome! Welcome!" came a sudden voice from the shadows. It sounded raspy and out of breath, like the words came only with great struggle. "It warms my heart to see friends greet each other so."

Elsebeth and the others turned to face the figure making his way into the minimal sunlight filtering into the room and beheld an old man with a long white beard and gnarled fingers gripping the head of a cane made from some pale wood. He was hunched over and leaning slightly to his right, obviously favoring his left side. He was almost as skinny as Inan was and he looked to Elsebeth like the oldest man in the world. His skin was pale and parchment thin; age spotted and traced with deep blue veins where it was not covered with a thick red robe. As he hobbled closer to them the old man who had been on the beach came with him, standing vigilant at one side and ready to catch him.

Sandor dipped his head down and spoke into the cup of Elsebeth's ear, "A red priest." When she only gave him a questioning look he frowned deeply and whispered into her ear again, "A fire worshipper. We must be careful here. They're not to be trusted."

"This is Artos," announced the boy who had led them here, drawing Elsebeth's attention away from the Hound as he swept one thin hand toward the old man and bowed deeply at the same time. "We also call him Kyuluck, which means 'The Holy Man'." He straightened himself again and continued, "Artos, these are our other guests. Elsebeth Snow and Sandor Clegane."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Zhaed," the old man returned, his small smile mostly hidden by the silky white strands of his beard. "I appreciate the fanfare, truly, I do. But I'm an old man and I tire quickly. Help me to my seat?"

"Of course!" 

The boy, Zhaed, rushed forward and gently gripped his elbow. He guided him toward a large chair near the table and helped him sit. The old man sighed as his backside rested against the worn wood and he smiled at Zhaed, patting his arm before sending him away with a wave.

"Come, don't be shy," Artos said, turning to regard Elsebeth and Sandor once again. "Sit. Eat. Let us talk a while and share the bounty the Lord of Light has given us on this glorious day."

Elsebeth and Sandor found a place at the table next to one another and Zhaed poured them a drink; some sweet, fruity wine that seemed poorly made but strong after so long without a taste of anything else. Elsebeth cautiously lifted some red, spiky fruit out of the basket near her and watched as Sandor chose a large, dark green thing with smooth skin that was somewhat bean shaped. She sliced into hers with a crude table knife that had seen better days and found that it was indeed a fruit; one that contained tender crimson flesh with a pleasantly pungent smell. She took a careful bite and found it to be very tasty; her eyebrows lifting in surprise as an unfamiliar sweetness burst between her teeth.

Sandor didn't get so lucky. His choice held white, curdy-looking innards that he spit out as soon as he put it in his mouth. He heard Elsebeth giggling at him even as she tried to hide it behind one hand and turned to look at her, scowling slightly. "Made my fucking tongue itch," he explained in a whisper.

"Not to your liking?" Artos asked, grinning and showing yellow teeth with many gaps between them. "Try the orange ones. I've never seen anyone spit out one of those."

Sandor grumbled under his breath and grabbed a round orange fruit with skin that looked quite scaly. Sandor cracked it open with his knife and when he tried it he found that he liked it much better; helping himself to two more of them.

Artos waited until they had eaten enough to focus on something other than food before he drew their attention to him again with his raspy old man's voice, "I would like to know how you found yourselves here on Sothoryos. Was it a storm? It seems often that those we find on our beaches are either slavers or shipwreck survivors."

Inan told him all about what happened on his ship and the aftermath and Elsebeth listened to the story but mostly focused on her food. She could almost feel real strength returning to her body bite by bite. Sandor ate just as ravenously as she did, his scruffy chin glistening with juices as he worked his way through the spread before them. There was very little meat to be had but they didn't mind; it was enough to eat and drink and know that there would be more when they wanted it...for the time being.

When Inan had finished the tale the old man sat back in his chair and steepled his thin fingers under his whiskered chin. "Praise the Lord of Light in His mercy," he said, his weathered face pinched into a grave expression. "Only through His grace did you manage to survive."

Sandor grumbled a curse at this and Elsebeth elbowed his side. He frowned at her before reaching for another piece of fruit.

"Do you not believe?" Artos asked, turning his faded blue eyes to look at the shaggy man sitting across from him.

"In your fire god? No," the Hound returned, looking back at the bent old man with steady brown eyes. "Nor in the seven they talked about back home, either." He glanced over at Elsebeth and tilted his head toward her before adding, "Not even in the old ones she knows. None of them ever answered my prayers, not in all my time of wanting, so I gave up once I realized that they're about as much use to me as a piss hole in the snow."

The old man made a chuffing sound and it took Elsebeth a second before she realized that he was laughing. "I suppose you're the kind of man who only believes in what you can see, hear, feel or taste?"

"Aye," Sandor allowed, biting into a chunk of fruit and spitting out seeds on his crudely fashioned wooden plate. "So if your fire god steps out and says hello someday it might just change my mind."

Artos laughed softly again but his eyes had an odd shine to them as he looked over to her and gave a slow wink, "It might, at that. Though I doubt he'll be paying us a visit anytime soon so let's talk of other things in the meantime, hmm? Were the five of you headed to Essos before the water devil made an appearance?"

Again, Inan was the one to answer (he was a talkative man and this didn't surprise her in the least) and time dragged out for a while. The conversation was pleasant enough but Elsebeth still worried. The old man had taken the blasphemy of his given god rather lightly and Sandor had told her already that the fire priest was not to be trusted. And surely Sandor would know better than her, wouldn't he? He wouldn't carelessly toss those words at her. He meant them...so why did he try to raise the old man's ire? Why invite trouble when they were unarmed and outnumbered? Was it the wine loosening his tongue too much or did he simply welcome death now after so narrowly avoiding it before?

When their meal was finished Artos announced that he was tired and would nap a while. He advised them all to stay in the village for now because beyond their borders the land was much more hostile and unforgiving to outsiders and Elsebeth struggled to find a caring sentiment in this. It seemed to be more of an implied threat than a warning to her despite the old man's smile and gentle tone. He asked that she and Sandor visit him later in the evening. "When the moon is high," he told them.

She nodded and smiled at the old man, saying all the right things, but there was nothing she wanted less in the world than to see him again later...especially in the middle of the night. Perhaps Sandor's words earlier had swayed her into this feeling of distrust but, even so, something about the priest just didn't feel right to her. Something in his rheumy eyes made the hair on the back of her neck stand up whenever they met hers. The natives here might call him holy man but everything about him screamed 'witch' to her.


End file.
